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Pith GUN-AND ROD 


AMERICAN WOODS AND WATERS 


EDITED BY 


ALFRED M. MAYER 


PROFESSOR IN 
THE STEVENS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY 


NEW YORK 
THE: CENTURY Y GO 


Copyright, 1883, by TH= Century Co. 


PIE AG Be 


HE love of the chase is deeply imbedded in man’s nature. During 

the untold centuries of his savage condition he followed it of necessity. 

We now revert to our primitive employment for our pleasure and rec- 
reation, pursuing with ardor, sports which often involve much bodily fatigue 
and always require skill and training. An impulse, often irresistible it seems, 
leads man away from civilization, from its artificial pleasures and its mechan- 
ical life, to the forests, the fields, and the waters, where he may have that free- 
dom and peace which civilization denies him. If this be not so, then why is 
it that the man of affairs as well as the man of leisure feels again the joy of 
his youth as he bids farewell to his office or his club, and seeks the solitudes 
of the woods and the plains? He will meet there some old familiar face in a 
guide, or fellow-sportsman, and welcome it with the ardor of good-fellowship. 
He will undergo all sorts of bodily discomforts,—coarse food and rough bed, 
the wet and the cold,—and yet be happy, because for a little spell he is free; 
in other words, he has, for the time, become a civilized savage. If, with gun 
and rod, he goes into the recesses of the great woods, and lives there for 
weeks or months, or mounts his horse and traverses the western plains and 
mountain passes, relying on his rifle for his subsistence, he is made to realize 
that there are many things to be learned outside of cities and away from his 
usual occupations. He will find food for philosophy in the behavior of his 
hunting companions; he will see who is manly and unselfish, who endowed 
with pluck and self-reliance; for three weeks’ association with a friend 
in the wilderness will reveal more-of his real character than a dozen years’ 
with him amid the safe retreats and soothing comforts of civilized life. 
He will learn how few are the real wants of a happy life in the midst of unciv- 
ilized nature. His troubles, if he carried any with him, will vanish ; time will 
seem of as little value to him as to the savage, and like all true sportsmen 


and “honest anglers,” he will return to his home with a calmed spirit and a 
contented mind. 


12 


Preface. 


We shall have attained our object in this book, if the sportsman, as he 
reads it, feels his lungs expand with the cool, balsam-laden air of the woods; 
hears the sudden whir-r-r of the ruffed grouse on the mountain-side, and feels 
his nerves grow tense as he again stands over his dog and is about to flush 
the woodcock or snipe; hears the breakers on the rocky coast, as in imagina- 
tion he makes a long “cast” into the surf; smells the salt marshes, while 
he hears the cries of the wild fowl and the whistle of the ducks’ wings. By its 
perusal, also, the younger reader may be led to spend his vacations in the 
enjoyment of sports which are manly and health-giving, which engender self- 
reliance and good-fellowship, and develop a love for Nature. 

My connection with this volume was unexpected. Some time ago I sug- 
gested to the editor of THe Cenrury Macazine that the various articles on 
hunting and angling which had appeared in that periodical should be col- 
lected into a book. At the time I made this suggestion, I had no inten- 
tion or desire to undertake the editing of writings describing the pursuit of 
game, so varied in habits and haunts that no one person could be expected 
to have had the requisite experience, and it was only at the solicitation 
of the publishers that I undertook the task. To make the work complete, 
several papers have been added, some of which are here printed for the first 
time. 

In behalf of the publishers, I wish to acknowledge indebtedness to the 
courtesy of Kegan Paul & Co., of London, for the use of the paper on 
Moose-Hunting in Canada, by the Earl of Dunraven; to Houghton, Mifflin 
& Co., for the articles contributed by Charles Dudley Warner and John 
Burroughs; to Charles Scnbner’s Sons, for the paper on Bow-Shooting 
by Maurice Thompson, and to James R. Osgood & Co., for the poem by the 
same author. 

ALFRED M. MAYER. 


MAPLEWOOD, 


TITLES. 


In THE Woops 


Heap or MuLe-DEER 


Heap oF FAWN oF ) 


MutLe-DEER 


Heap or Rocky 


Heap or Musk-Ox 


Biack Bass | 
“BROKE Away” § 


THE MICHIGAN 
GRAYLING 


Bos ee 
—Atr Dawn 


A GRousE FAMILY 
AT SUNSET 


SOUTH AMERICAN ) 
GOAT-SUCKER 4 


JAPAN 


ARTISTS 
( Engraved direct | 
. from Nature § 


J. Harrison Mills 


W. M. Cary 


t , : 
MountTAIN WILD SHEEP § James C. Beard 


James C. Beard 


Gurdon Trumbull 


James C. Beard 


James C. Beard 


James C. Beard 


j Engraved direct ) 
\ from Nature 4 


James C. Beard 


PROG Ss: 


ENGRAVERS. 


Elbridge Kingsley 


J. Harrison Mills 


R. A. Miiller 


R. A. Miiller 


J. H. E. Whitney 


H. Davidson 4 


F. S. King 


R. <G3Gollins 


F. S. King 


Elbridge Kingsley 


Frank French 


PAGES. 


“e 


“ 


ee 


Frontispiece. 


§ Vignette on 
Title. 


Facing 46 


280 


314 


334 


494 


612 


646 


836 


mate PNG Eb Ste TONS. 


TITLES. ARTISTS. ENGRAVERS, PAGES, 
ie ee CREE BEN Mary Hallock Foote J. Hellawell 13 
SHORE ‘ 
Hawk on NEst? Fannie E. Gifford E. Heinemann 28 
INDIAN HUNTER J. Q. A. Ward David Nichols 44. 


( Charles C. Ward } 


Tue BLACK Bear iJames C. Beard § 


Henry Varley Facing 50 


A Meer art Newport’ George Inness, Jr. W. J. Dana roo 


THE AMERICAN Bison James C. Beard H. E. Schultz Facing 116 


A Moose FIGHT 


Henry Sandham 


In A WESTERN Forest Julian Rix 
Heap or MERINO Ram James C. Beard 


Heap or Musk-Cow James C. Beard 


JapaNEseE KinGIyo James C. Beard 


THE PROFESSOR } : 
: ee Cocks 
LANDING A DOUBLE { J 
PARALLELISM IN 
FLicHT oF Birps AND ¢ James C. Beard 
SWIMMING OF FISH 


OutTwarbD BouND M. J. Burns 


PERcE Rock M. J. Burns 
OLp MILLt-WHEEL 


A Braco Stupy James C. Beard 


Charles A. Vanderhoof 


T. Cole “36 


Charles Cullen 
J. H. E. Whitney 
Samuel P. Davis 


F. 5. King 


H. Davidson 


F. S. King 


John Evans 
John Evans 
Annie L. Haywood 


Henry Marsh 


Facing 284 


Facittg 386 


Facing 422 


16 — Feull-Page [Mustrations. 


TITLES. ARTISTS ENGRAVERS. PAGES. 
A Porpotise DIvING ea Woe Elbridge Kingsley Facing 482 
NeEar NEWPORT Henry Sandham R. C. Collins 540 
Ar Low Tipe Stephen Parrish Elbridge Kingsley 572 
Snow BuNTINGS Fidelia Bridges F. S. King 610 
eee ; James C. Beard J. H. E. Whitney Facing 664 
Woopcock AND YounGc James C. Beard Samuel P. Davis S686 
“ ears James C. Beard Henry Marsh “606 
Hoan Sheng James C. Beard ; y H. E. Whitney Se 
Our oF Doors Roger Riordan Henry Marsh 796 


A Birp MEpLey Fidelia Bridges F. S. King 880 


TAB EE Or CONTENTS. 


x PAGE 
[PRISER ACIS Relic An ace ad aS ee er 
ABTS O HGH PAPAIN EPEAROORSi), os) ot sn GP tee ees ee ea, TA 
intieOne Uti AGE MMLUSTRATIONS 6.057) yt ee ee eae eee 615 


WineePRenisroric TuNTER....°....... Alfred A. Mayer. 29 

Illustrations: Axe, Spear-head, and Knife of Archzeolithic 
age—Skeleton of the Great Irish Elk— Arrowhead 
from Killarney —Spear-head and Arrowhead found 
near Pont-Leroy—TFish-spear, Kents’ Cavern— 
Harpoon-Point of bone and nephrite— Prehistoric 
Carving on Ivory—Fish-spears, La Madelaine— 
Arrowhead from Lake Bienne—Tail-piece. 


A Gia GAVE: 


(iP DPACKMOBARI "ius. +, - |. a aaue. e.Gnxarles C. Ward. 49 
Illustrations, from sketches by the author: Head of 
Black Bear— Bear and Cubs—The Bear Pass. . James C. Beard. 
Skull of Black Bear — Fore-paws — Hind-paws — A 
DeadetalleMrapeeper. sts aim, seeder ate ch . Charles C. Ward. 
The Indian; from’ a sketch by the author. ........ 2. W. Taber. 


Sacking a Lumber Camp, from a sketch by the 

ALthOY meee eric. ches las see. eisoesh vio! lo ede ke SAO. 
After Honey — An Aboriginal Hunter — Tail-piece. . . . . Dan Beard. 
Ne Heaton aMbormerneac. gett yee) + 4, + 4s. 0 2» Looser Riordan. 


2 


18 Contents. 


BEAR-HUNTING IN THE SOUTH . sense 
Illustrations, from sketches by the author: Old Asa 
Cutting through the Canebrake — Bear Hieroglyphics 
—At Bay —The Death — Old Asa in es 
In the Forest . é 
A Flight of Wild Geese fino. engravings) . 
A Hunter’s Paradise . 
Tail-piece 


. James Gordon. 


_ WL. Sheppard. 


. Granville Perkins, 


. James C. Beard. 
. Thomas Moran. 
BS (GPT ARLE 


Fox-HuNTING IN New Encuanp .. . . Rowland &. Robinson. 


Illustrations, from sketches by the author: Head- 
piece . wae 
“An Honest Fox Mise ne es 


After a Breakfast —“ Holed ” eS hantatine the’ ae ‘ 


The Dog’s Dream—The Start—On the Trail—The 
Run-way . ene 

Calling the Dogs . 

Another Stratagem . 

Bearing Home the Brush . 

A Happy Family— Head of Fox- Road Dea 


: . L. Hopkins. 
. James C. Beard. 
. John IW. Bolles. 


. . Alfred Kappes. 
. Walter Shirlaw. 
. Peter Moran. 

. James £. Kelly. 


BthlerSGent is oa Gl est bs: ev yy en Men UMP OUU IE MERCTEI (277 CEL ROLCOLTFISDIE- 


In November 
Tail-piece . 


A BuFrFaLo-HUNT IN NorTHERN Mexico 
Illustrations, from sketches by the author: The School of 
the Laniat— Now, Fire Fei: 5 
The “Mozo” 
The Patio, from a Seer h by the ator 
The Start — Our First View of the Herd . 
On the Road — Juan —Santos—In the Rear Court — 
“ Under the Colonnade”—In the Corridor—A Group 
of Vaqueros—A Maguey Field . 
Head of American Buffalo . 
The Tangle of Paths . 


. Jervis McEntee. 
. Henry Farrer. 


. Lew Wallace. 


. James E. Kelly. 
. IV. L. Sheppard. 
. John W. Bolles. 


. George [Inness, Jr, 


. Mary Hallock Foote. 


. James C. Beard. 
. Lew Wallace. 


Tue Norty American Cervips ... . George Bird Grinnell. 


Illustrations: A Moose Fight . 
Barren-ground Caribou . , 
Head of American Elk — Head of Maile ees F 
Tail-piece . 


. Henry Sandham. 
. Charles C. Ward. 
. James C. Beard. 
. Roger Riordan. 


PAGE 


65 


79 


IOL 


129 


Contents. 


IVIGOSE=HUNTING 020. 5 86 eee .Charles C. Ward. 
Illustrations, from sketches oy the author : maine Hee na 

Tree— Moose Family — Moose-yard—- Fire Hunting . . Henry Sandham. 

sliver UOOSe-Calliemnnr td -NUcmea ewe ect ey ey . James &. Kelly. 

Moose-Birds. ... . ; Be eames CG. Beard, 
Socotoma— Still re thy IMaese: one s Camp = 

The Old Block-House—Stone Medallion . . . . . . Charles C. Ward. 

JyencdaCedanebidsiyear a) eas nee tu ae ee eacia, Bridees. 

The Darkening Pines. Engraved direct from nature. . A/bridge Kingsley. 

Retumme domi the unt. es sss ses 2 4. Alene Sandham. 

MoosE-HUNTING IN Canapa......... Earl of Dunraven. 

Illustration: Tail-piece. Engraved direct from nature. . . 2iiitdge Kingsley. 

ARTEOUSHUNTING, | jo. sce. cs 2 1 oye Charles ©. Ward. 
Illustrations, from sketches by the author: Caribou 

Barrens —Caribou Crossing a Frozen Lake. . . . . . Zhomas Moran, 

Attacked by a Wolf—Afloat on a Cake of Ice—Bring- : 

ing in the Caribou—-A Good Chance. . . . . . . Henry Sandham. 
Woodland Caribou Hoofs— Caribou Migiarine Sauer 

est Birds —Seh-ta-ga-bo— A Shot from Tomah. . . . Charles C. Ward. 

(Cadkir IBinds 4\ 8) 559s 0 GUM pe tonecuens oon cua Cola eae 


DEER-HUNTING ON THE Au SaBLeE.....W. Mackay Laffan. 
Illustrations: Up Saginaw Bay— Camp Erwin — On 
the Au Sable—Deception— Under the Cédars— 
Hung Up—A General Surprise—A Torch of the 


Au Sable—Sweepers—A Ton and a half of Venison . IV. Mackay Laffan. 
AX Ibiasl ssa e) SMG 6 lo We ORIG ao a pub Bald, cA Dare 


Huntinc THE Mute-DeEER tn CoLorapo. ¥. Harrison Mills. 
Illustrations: from a sketch by the author, “ And Tiny 


Saidehe: Lhought he Could’: 2 2... . . . frederick Dielman. 
The Fall of the Leader, from a sketch by the auithor . . . George Inness, Jr. 


Head of the Mule-Deer—* Are you Looking for us ?” 
—An Attack of Buck Fever— Osborne and his Dog 
—How Tiny Beguiled them—A Pattern in a Net 


of Twigs—A Dissolving View. . ....... . . J. Harrison Mills. 
Ongthey Grameen, sop. 5is ills, eats ys, meee er ee Oma Moran: 
dail DICCemme MN MeT de. irene hs ad ihe! ei eect ly bs fadeane ex: 


) 
PAGE 


154 


iS) 
O 
S 


to 
ios) 
Oe 


to 
on 
NI 


20 Contents. 


THe WiLp SHEEP OF THE SIERRA......... John Mutr. 
Illustrations, after sketches by the author: Head of 
Rocky Mountain Wild Sheep— Head of the Merino 


Ram (Domestic) —The Water-ousel . =: . 2 6 James GC Bearas 
AVHeeding-croud 9. 9.9. = - do cape sta tay gh timate ete cle eh tte COPA OAC IUD 
Snow-Bound on Mount Shasta— lanes over a Preci- 

pice — Indians Hunting Wild Sheep. . . . . . . . . John W. Bolles. 
Williamson Spruce Tree. . . oye ag Bee tea ey de eRe RSI GA OTe 
Jona Sierras HOreStes sc) & fly es ia ee ee omasmVarage 
Crossinpva Canonsieamia . = «| © nen ewes] memGeo7ce/ nmessmuire 

(DHE ANTELOPE... 0.0.0... 5 1. «st »  Georee Bara Grammer 

salle pleGeleiaee siya sues Vs. Hl See ts, Seema = eat ee GeorgeGa0sar. 

A NiwsK=Ox VEfuNT. 2 3. % : . Frederick Schwatka. 

Illustrations: Head of ee Ox Heed of Mase Cow. . . James C. Bear. 
From sketches by the author: Parseneuk in a Tight 

Place—On the Tral— At Bay. ......... George Inness, Jr. 
AnvEsquimo x Campi ie. .5. 008 1. a ce aeemeee ce sas Borer ee atte epee I Ty age 


PS EL. 


Tue Primitive FisH-Hook......... . . Barnet Phillips. 
Illustrations: Stone Fish-gorge—Bricole (two cuts)— 
Double Hook — Prehistoric Forms — Sharpened 
Needle used in France—Bronze Fish-hooks— 
Deuble Hook, barbed —Alaskan Halibut-hook 
(two cuts)— Russian Fish-hook— Artificial Stone 


Shiimpyey se CMCC crake wear LS Wah, 
An Alaskan Fish- ackion seeige 6 a Gn es Se aa ee eaaicesm aeons 


Shell-hooks (five cuts). 


Maal piece ects hE Seb. ne cs iis vos Se a, hee en gr 


PAGE 


280 


Sue 


337 


Contents. 


Trout-FisHiInG iV THE RanGELEY Lakes. . Edward Seymour. 


Illustrations : The Junction of Rangeley and Kennebago 
— Allerton Lodge — Stony Batter—Cleft Rock . 
Camp Kennebago — Upper Dam . 


Experiment in Natural Philosophy — Catching a Pave: 
pounder — Spirit of Mooselucmaguntic—* Matching” 
a Seven-pound Trout — Breaking Camp 

Head of Trout . : 

The Dam on Rangeley Stream 

The Net Result . Pape eeineies “vee 33 

Lakes and Head Waters a ie Androscoggin and 
Kennebec — Hic Jacet. 


IBUACK. BASS “RISHING 5 0). on. ae fms 
Illustrations: Large-mouthed Black Bass — Small 


mouthed Black Bass 
Near the River . 
Luke . Bae 
The Professor Tandiie: a Tpeable = Ae dest “Still 
Fisher” 


. Thomas Moran. 
pies 3 IK Sa IEF, 
The Interior of the Camp — Telling Fish-stories . . Keninies S. Reinhart. 


. W. L. Sheppard. 
. J. Ff, Runge. 

. WW. FH. Gibson. 

. Roger Riordan. 


A. Henshall. 


. £. R. Copeland. 
. Thomas Moran. 


. Joseph Fennell, 


ML COCR: 


In THE Haunts oF Bream AND Bass (Poem). Maurice Thompson. 


SALMON-FISHING .... . ae A. G- Wilkinson. 


Illustrations: On the @cabenk = The Restigouthe a 
Matapediac Rivers —Valley of the Matapediac — In 
the Harbor of St. John — A Canadian Fishing River 
— Quebec from the River— A Memory of Quebec 
—A Half-breed Netting Salmon — River Craft on 
the St. Lawrence . eo at Saute) ek fut Megat aac 

Scotch Poacher — Gaffing at Big Salmon Hole — The 
Philosophical Angler— Our English Friend — The 
Strategic Angler — My First Salmon — The Patient 
Angler — An Irate Angler — The Countess of Duf- 
ferin Pool — Part of the Fun — Equal to the Emer- 
gency —* A Little o’ yer Fly-ile’”—Late to Dinner 
— One Way Fish are Lost . : 

Percé Rock, South of Gaspé Basin — Falls at ae 
Narrows of York River 

Percé Rock 

Misfortune . 


2A 


. Henry Sandhan. 


. WL. Sheppard. 


. Thomas Moran. 
. M. J. Burns. 
Michael Woolf. 


ios) 
“I 
Ne) 


401 


22 Contents. 
PAGE 
The Camp at Night . Will A. Low. 
Sparrows . ; . Midelia Bridges. 
“ Fifty Cents a Hruneeed! : . James C. Beard. 
The Rise . sh Vee the ee . Walter M. Brackett, 
Canadian Salmon Riv ers ad Gaspé Basin. 
STRUPEDM BASS one: fuy oo ee ts ew) te de PKG HE ATE or eee 
Illustrations: Gosnold’s Island, Cuttyhunk . Anna ness MEL I Goacks: 
The Club-house and Stands . . Charles A. Vanderhoof. 
On the Island . ita . Thomas Moran. 
On the Way to the Stands — r be L vali Honea at Gay 
Head she ae . John W. Bolles. 
Fishing from the a onlsy . WW. Taber. 
Back from the Beach — Tail-piece . : 12 EL Ss Church: 
Along the Chiff— On the Beach — Along Shore: : . KR. Swain Gifford. 
Indian Head . A, con . Aug. Will. 
The Edge of the Cliffs . : Charles S. Reinhart. 
Crab f Roger Riordan. 
Basket Fish . . James C. Beard. 
Montauk Light . . Walter Paris. 
Montauk (two cuts) . 3 . £. Hopkinson Smith. 
A Good Catch — Striped Base or Rock Fig Fish- 
ing A. D. 1496. 
PORPOISE-SHOOTING. .... cy ws » sheherles (6. Ward. ate 
Illustrations: Cape Blomidon sas Sue . Henry Sandhan. 
Sebatis Beaching the Canoe —The Camp at Indian 
Beach — Trying out Blubber — Spearing a Porpoise 
—Taking a Porpoise Aboard — Shooting a Porpoise 
—Sebatis Adrift . ‘ : _ MM. J. Burns. 
A Porpoise Diving, from a ae h oF the Biinion : 5 . Dan Beara. 
On the Way to the Eddies . Wee: ge W. Edwards. 
Tail-piece . R. Swain Gifford. 
THe MicuiGan GRayLInc. . Thaddeus Norris. 493 


Illustrations: The Michigan ce 
View on the Manistee . . : 
On the Manistee — Sweepers in the “Manistee ; 
Tail-piece. Engraved direct from nature . 


. James C. Beard. 
. Thomas Moran. 


_ IV. Mackay Laffan. 


. Elbridge Kingsley. 


SE ——— = 


Contents. 22 

PAGE 

SEA-TROUT PIBHING |. 4. etn A. R. Macdonough. 507 
Illustrations; Turning a Rapid — Mating a Peoitage = 
The Lake Camp—A_ Pool—The Outlet — Tail- 


jle@e) 4 Ee fee eae clase eR owt cc Win Lire SHED DOM Ms 
Long Sault Rapid a en eee Deere MR ak | cise «LL EMEY. SANRNOM. 
acim ae wer syle sts ai eae nae a Crea AI veto VILE Ld: Low, 
Our Skippere med wae ee pee anes ny eels. I. Chase, 
|iosoneyyendal Wyoyiiayel | GG 5 ep ce jo enh oe Jel oh wo ne ISCO (Exit 
The Custom-house, Quebec . . . . eee eels, Lloprinsarm Smt. 


Map of Some Sea-trout Waters — Ruaning the Lachine 
Rapids—En Route—Clay Bank and Rapids— 
Cleaning for a Camp— The Home Camp — Getting 
Ready for Breakfast — Running a Rapid. 


din HALCYON, IN CANADA: 4 4-66’ . Fohn Burroughs. 541 
ee On ne St. Taieece ome Citadel at 
‘aleche — A Canadian Interior . . . . Henry Sandham. 
Pane Kingbird. ae . . + Fannie £. Gifford. 
On the Way to the River — Atene ie Hineeon . . . Mary Hallock Foote. 


Lake Memphremagog — In the Thousand Islands. 


AMONG THE THOUSAND IsLanps ......... Howard Pyle. 573 
Illustrations : Bagle's™ headin 5 \: . . . Hrank B. Mayer. 
Inlet to the Lake — Head of Creek and ten Sone . . . Thomas Moran. 
Flowers from Iron Spring. . . : . . . . Helena de Kay. 
The Devil’s Oven — Dock w rhere ‘the § Steamer af a was 
Burned Gs als. ; P : SG CLE ere aie 
General View from Bluft feand Ries Crate A 
Fishing Party — Bonnie Castle... . . ane Jee On Dauiison: 


Ruins of the Old Fort —Camping Out— C dokine a 
Camp Dinner — Catching a Muskalonge— Spearing 
BeISN INewel Baye Wie ala! hem ag suits eerie LAO TCI IE IP /e 


4 Witham Mitchell. 597 
( Laurence D. Alexander. 601 


Tue Sperry Bampoo Rop . 


On ‘THE INVENTION OF THE REEL. .....A/fred M. Mayer. 603 


RELATION BETWEEN THE WEIGHT AND LENGTH 
GFABROOK-TROUT o0.0%% +7. PME sine Oe lod eson Elis. 605 


24 Contents. 


Some AMERICAN SportinG Docs ....Wielliam M. Tileston. 


Illustrations: Greyhound — Deer-hound 


. Rabbit-hunting with Beagles 

Fox-hunting in the South . : 

Red Irish Setter— Black-and-White Seite: Condon 
Setter— Head of Pointer — Black-and-White Pointer 
— Liver-and-White Pointer — Cocker Spaniels — 
Irish Water-spaniel . 

Retrieving . ; ce 

Breaking Young Does Do n 6 hares : 

Tail-piece . iba Sari veers 

Pointers of Fifty years ago 
Ground Plan, Front Elevation, and Side View of 
Kennel. 


Edward Laverack — 


NortH AMERICAN GROUSE. 
Illustrations: Grouse in Field — Flushing a Covey of 
Pinnated Grouse ehrielsctens Ease 
The Drumming-log — A Crotite Family — Making 
themselves at Home — The Fifteenth of August on 
the Prairie — Grouse on Nest — Tail-piece . 
April-fool 
A ‘Twitch-up — The Covate. Eien. 
Across the Path . 
A Prairie Minuet . 
The Gilhe Boy . 


AL A . Abbott H. Thayer. 
The Meet at the ‘‘ Harp and Eagle”. . . . . J. Wordsworth Thompson. 
. John W. Bolles. 
. W. L. Sheppard. 


. J. fF. Runge. 
Sy SOLAS 

. James C. Beard. 
. Theodore Robinson. 


._Charles Ek. Whitehead. 


Fidelia Bridges. 


. James C. Beard. 
. Alfred Kappes. 


. John W. Bolles. 

. Sol. Lytinge. 
. H. W. Herrick. 
. James E. Kelly. 


Bog White, THE GAME Birp or America. . Alfred M. Mayer. 


Illustrations: European Gray Partridges—‘ Bob White !” 
— White Bob White — California Valley Partridge 
or Quail—Bob White and European Quail — Mrs. 
Bob White and Family — European Red- aie 
Partridges . 


. James C. Beard. 


a 


FEATHERED GAMsE 


PAGE 


615, 


639: 


663. 


Contents. 


Steady, there! To-ho!... - ee oe Sean pe ee ee) Laer: 
en icccm reas Lege wie Maa ee bth hve soe, 1. Drake, 


Bob White Egg (from the collection of H. B. Bailey). 


THe AMERICAN Woopcock ..... . . George Lird Grinnell. 


Illustrations: Woodcock and Young. . . A aed OES CaM Deara. 


Egg of Woodcock (from the collection of H. B. Bailey). 


DMIBE-SHOOTING .. <foci hs Je 45. a. George Bird Grinnell. 
Illustrations: A Wilson’s Snipe Family. . . Seem aiies GO. Beara: 
Egg of Wilson’s Snipe (from the collection cE lal 
Bailey). 
FIELD Sports IN MINNESOTA... . . Charles A. Zimmerman. 


Illustrations, from sketches by the author: A Close Shot — 
A Side Shot — Bonded Goods in Transit— A “ Bond” 
in Wet Weather—A Cold Morning—The Bridge 


Stand —Goose-shooting from Stubble... .... . . A. B. Frost. 
A Tight Shell—Stopping an Incomer— Wild Geese — 
Winall) 1eks! tvs) i) ri at se eCOLEZ A. L170. 
Kandiyohi Pass— Canvas- Heat And Red Hees Goose 
I ECOVSW Ae ea eta ao) 4s 3, 2 eee eee Chanlecs Aeem meray. 
CANVAS-BACK AND TERRAPIN ........ W. Mackay Laffan. 
Illustrations: At the Club in Colonial Days. . . Ee for trreGe Ds, ALQVER: 


Diving for Celery (Two cuts) —The Nefarious Pot- 
hunter—Our Quarters— Rowing Down to the Blind 
—Blind at Biddison’s Point—Over the Decoys— 
Joe— Interrupted Pilgrims — A Toll of Ducks Coming 
In— Dividing the Spoils—In the Larder— Posthu- 
mous Migration—A Terrapin Hunter’s Home— 


dercapinvtor (Ubvee wer sega, - 4b > os ey kee ee ae ackay) Lajjan. 
MitemarGood Day s\WOrk...0 <1 vi).2e bien cate ie Pian Wat 2. Goe, 

Aa DAvWiTM THERA S@. 02.5 oth. ao ayrea MM. Mayer. 
Illustrations: Male and Female Rail. ....... . . James C. Beard. 
ACPusher——Watleshooting, =<. 129.) seas --- Seeies aie w/OSCDA LL ennell. 


Egg of the Carolina Rail. (From the collection of H. B. 
Bailey.) 


PAGE 


685 


695 


795 


NI 
to 
OV 


NI 
on 
le) 


26 Contents. 


PAGE 


SEM C SOM AGON Westen ten re eke Alfred M. Mayer. 765 


Illustrations: Mechanism of the iach. oceHe 
German Wheel-lock—Spanish Flint-lock— Manton 
Flint-lock — Lefaucheux’s Breech-loader — Parts of 
a Gun—Section of Hammerless Breech-action— 
Patent Treble Wedge-fast Gun— Parts of an Ordi- 
nary Bar-lock —Stanton’s Rebounding Lock— Ham- 
merless Gun—Breech and Part of the Fore-end of 
Sneider Hammerless Gun—Sneider’s Double-grip Top- 
lever Gun—Three-twist Barrel— Four-twist Barrel 
—Two Spirals Welded Together in the Middle — 
Stamp of London Gunmakers Company —Stamp of 
the Birmingham Proof-house. 


Camps AND TRAMpPS ABOUT KTAADN 


Illustrations: Cross Section of Camp — Ground Plan of 
Camp— A Jumper may reg eos se oes : 
From studies by F. E. Church: Night View of the 
Camp — Ktaadn, from the South Shore — The Trav- 
eler— Wood Interior on Mount Turner—A View in 
the Great Basin. From studies by H. W. Robbins: 
The Missing Link— East branch of the Penobscot — 
Ktaadn Lake, from the Slide in the Basin 
From a study by L. De Forest: Ktaadn from Cress at 


OUT VOR DOORS: 


Arbor Ilex. 


. A. L. Ffolley. 


Thomas Moran. 


WiestvEmdmofideake 08)... 3 \h syne) (Charles Vanes oar 


Tail-piece 


How I Kitiep a Bear 


A Ficut witH a Trout 


. Elbridge Kingsley. 


Sor 


Charles Dudley Warner. 820 


Charles Dudley Warner. 827 


P ty , ae - nial 


—— 


> = 
eee 


eT a ee eee 


- "i . 


Pa ee ee ee ee a. 


Contents. ZF 

PAGE 

Flow to) Mount A Birp.......°.... Frederic A. Lucas. 833 
Illustrations: Ready for Work— A Taxidermist’s Sanctum 
—South American Goat-sucker— Argus Pheasant — 
Great Auk—Scarlet Ibis and Young Crocodile — 
Young Waterfowl —Owlet — Head of Saiga — A 
South American Monkey—The Bell Bird — Golden 
Eagle —A Little Stranger from the Tropics — A 


Family of Screech-Owls— Peacock Screen. . . . . . James C. Beard. 
How the Wing is Wired— Bird, Wrapped. . . . . . /vederic A. Lucas. 


BOW-SHO@TING ........... .. +. Maurice Thompson. 854 
Illustrations: Stringing the Bow — Drawing the Bow — 


ATT OMIM rakes ence oe a ee an ei ee he) pias Sheppard: 
A Good Target. . . ae - 2 Manme B. Gujord. 
What You Aimed At — W hen the eae Got There — 

A Successful Shot — Thunder-Pumper . . . . . . . . James C. Beard. 
(CHEsehr Sic SRD Sep at oe it eye amen te //C7t Core Zei00a: 
A Staid Old Fr AIO CL se ... . .« Llbridge Kingsley. 


ua Camp on Indian River On the dee of the 
Woods — Along the Bay — The Haunt of the Heron. . 7homas Moran, 


\Neatainse ioye el Sie > So She SA hoe Be oo eS 6 ALIS 
fMail-piece sme) e Sig eS oe oe 6 BS 8 POS MMC oP Oe 


Bows, Arrows, nad Aceouteiients 


Mire BLOW=GUN, 2 274. os st os 2 Adfved Me Mayer: 881 


Nees Sees ne ce at ey “eta Rell ae Beanie Date 1-544 OOM 


ieee ho hORLG, FUN TER. 


By ALFRED M:; MAYER. 


Y hunting and fishing the prehistoric man obtained his sub- 

sistence, and in these pursuits were his greatest pleasures. 

It may then be of interest to the modern sportsman—who, 
begging his ‘pardon, is himself a good deal of a savage—to know 
something of this ancient brother hunter and angler, from whom he 
has inherited his love of sport and his savage instincts. 

Thanks to the wonderful discoveries of quite recent days, we 
can now give the history of man as a hunter and angler from his 
first known appearance on earth to the present day. We first find 
him living in the river-valleys of Europe and of this country, his 
only weapons of the chase being pieces of flint rudely chipped into 
roughly pointed forms. Thence we track him to the caves in the 
banks of the rivers, where the fashion of his arms of flint and bone, 
and his skill in the arts of design and carving, show that he has made 
a notable step in his progress toward civilization. He is now a fish- 
erman as well as a hunter. Then we see him as a dweller on the 
shores of the sea and the borders of the fjords, and the dog 
first appears as man’s companion. Thence we trace him to the 
lakes, where he dwells in wooden houses built on piles. He 
wears woven fabrics as well as skins, cultivates the soil, and has 
herds. He fashions stone into elegantly shaped tools and weapons, 
with highly polished cutting edges. Later, he replaces these with 
bronze implements cast in stone molds. The dog now shares 
with man the perils and excitement of the chase and the comforts 
of his dwelling. The pile-dweller builds canoes or dug-outs, which 
he paddles over the lake, and he angles with spindles of bone and 
finely shaped barbed hooks of bronze suspended to lines spun of flax. 


30 The Prehistoric Hunter. 


We will attempt to give mosaics of these primitive hunters and 
anglers, formed, it is true, out of rather large stones and of few 
colors; for the pictures have to be made out of what fragments 
this prehistoric man has left of his habitations, his feasts, his flint, 
bone, and bronze implements his sketches and his carvings. Some- 
times, however, the arrangement of these fragments will make an al- 
most accurate picture of him. We can clothe him in his garments, 
adjust his crude ornaments, place in his hands the arms of the chase, 
and see him as he once pursued the noble game which everywhere 
surrounded him. 


Tue Hunter OF THE DRIFT. 


Deep below the surface of the gravel-beds in many river-valleys 
in France, England, and various other parts of the world are found 
stone axes, spear-heads and knives of flint, rudely chipped into 


shape by races of men who were the first hunters of whom we have 
any record. The records these hunters have left are these stone 
implements and their own bones, which are found side by side 


nen 
AXE OF ARCH OLITHIC AGE FOUND AT A DEPTH OF TEN FEET IN THE GRAVEL-BEDS OF THE 


DILUVIUM AT MOULIN-QUIGNON, NEAR ABBEVIL 1 VALLEY OF THE SOMME— 
FROM THE COLLECTION OF ALF M. MAYER, 


The Prehistoric Hlunter. 21 


SPEAR-HEAD FOUND AT SAME PLACE AS AXE—FROM COLLECTION OF ALFRED M. MAYER. 


with the bones of the animals they slew, and whose flesh was 
probably their only food. 

These gravel-beds, forming what is called river-drift, are of great 
age. Lyell is of opinion that the chipped-flint implements and the 
bones found in the drift of the river Somme, in France, are at least 
one hundred thousand years old; while others hold that two hundred 
and fifty thousand years have elapsed since these ancient men hunted 
with their rude arms such extinct animals as the great Irish elk, the 
mammoth, the urus, and the cave bear. With their stone axes and 
flint spears they brought down the noble game, and skinned and 
cut it up with their flint knives. 

The gigantic Irish elk, which stood ten feet in height and carried 
magnificent antlers which spread eleven feet from tip to tip; the 
urus, which disappeared in historic times, and which was described by 
Czesar as ‘‘ nearly equal to the elephant in bulk, but in color, shape, 
and kind resembling a bull”; the cave bear, longer than our grizzly ; 
the cave lion; the hyena; a woolly-haired rhinoceros; a hippopota- 
mus; the mammoth; the aurochs, or bison; the musk-ox; the wild 
horse; these were the animals hunted by these most ancient of 
prehistoric men. They have all passed away, except the aurochs, 
which the Russian Government has saved from extermination by 
strictly guarding them in the forests of Lithuania, and the musk- 
ox, which, however, now lives in the arctic regions and is sel- 
dom seen below the parallel of sixty-eight. The rest are only 
known to us from their bones, except the mammoth, which has 


22 The Prehistoric Flunter. 


HI 


Nt 


\ 


nn 


SKELETON OF THE GREAT IRISH ELK—IN THE NEW YORK MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY. 


been found in the flesh, imbedded in the arctic ice of Siberia, 
where a few have been preserved by refrigeration during untold 
ages. 

It is not difficult to make a sketch of this ancient hunter. We 
see him clad in skins. He is armed with a stone axe fastened 
to a long handle, a long-shafted flint-tipped spear, and a sharp 
flint knife. Thus equipped, the hunter of the drift set out in 
pursuit of game which in size and numbers exceeded any 
now existing. We can imagine a company of these men craftily 
approaching a herd of aurochs, or wild horses, selecting one for 
their prey, and then, with the stealthy approach of the tiger, 
drawing near till with sudden spring they felled the animal to 
the ground with blows of their tomahawks or thrusts of their 
lances; or we see them speeding over the snow, giving chase to the 
huge mammoth, the wild urus, or to the swift elk, till these animals, 
succumbing to the superior endurance of man to fatigue and hunger, 
allow the hunters to surround them, and the game falls, pierced with 
flint lances or stunned with the blows of stone axes. 


The Prehistoric Flunter. 33 


I here recall the narration of a friend of mine, an honest hunter 
and trapper of northern Maine. His rifle became useless when far 
away from his home-camp, and short of food, he came upon the 
tracks of a large bull-moose. On his snow-shoes he followed these 


c= 


1 


tracks till night, when he slept in the hollow he scooped out 


KNIFE FOUND AT SAME PLACE AS AXE AND SPEAR-HEAD — COLLECTION OF ALFRED M. MAYER. 


between two fallen trees. At break of day, he was up and speeding 
on the snow after his game. In the afternoon, he first caught sight 
of the moose. He had nothing with which to attack the huge beast 
but a pocket-knife. With this he cut down a sapling birch and tied 
the knife to it in such manner that the blade could not close upon 
the handle. He only stopped a moment in the chase to cut down 
the sapling, trimming it of its branches and tying to it the knife 
while he was scudding over the snow. Overtaking the moose and 
using his extemporized lance, he gave him a severe stab in the 
throat. The bull at once charged him; but the hunter was pre- 
pared for this, and escaped the danger by quickly stepping behind a 
tree. After several repetitions of this manoeuvre the moose became 
exhausted from loss of blood and desperation, and fell at last, a 
victim to the blade of a pocket-knife in the hands of a man, because 
he was his superior in endurance. 

While he told his story, I pictured to myself the 
man of the drift armed with a similar weapon in his 
sharp flint spear, and chasing the great Irish elk 
over the crust of the snow-clad hills of Europe. 

After my friend had slain the moose, he set out 
in search of a fellow-trapper who would help him 
carry the meat to camp and share it with him; but 
before he left the moose he turned him on his back, 
and with lumps of snow propped up his legs, so 


ARROWHEAD FROM KIL- 
LARNEY, IRELAND— 


COLLE > AL- q = - : 
Eocene that af a storm should occurin. his absence the 


Pe] 


34 The Prehistoric Hunter. 


SPEAR-HEAD FOUND NEAR PONT-LEROY IN THE DILUVIUM OF THE VALLEY OF THE LOIRE — 
FROM THE COLLECTION OF ALFRED M. MAYER. 


moose would not be lost to sight in the snow. This is a usual prac- 
tice with hunters, and it is not improbable that the same plan was 
practiced by the cave-men; for in one of their sketches of a group of 
reindeer, three are on their backs. One in particular, with stiffened 
legs in the air, is not merely a sketch made on the surface of the 
piece of antler in a reversed position, a fact which is at once evident 
when we examine the pose of the head, neck, and legs with the draw- 
ing turned upside down. 

We may reasonably suppose that yet another plan of hunting 
was practiced by these prehistoric men. In the chase of the mam- 
moth or the aurochs, one of these creatures would sometimes be 
surrounded by the hunters and driven over the brow of a precipice, 
an experience which would be likely to suggest the use of pitfalls. 

Flint axes, spears, and knives were the only arms 
of the chase used by the men of the drift, for no 
arrowhead, nor any kind of fishing implement or 
harpoon, has been found in the drift. On finding the 
arrowhead, we infer the use of the bow. This inven- 
tion does not appear till the period of the cave-dwellers 
—a, more recent date, yet far removed in time from “Ove ame 


NEAR PONT-LEROY 


ours. How man, armed only with the lance and the ,,COLLECTION OF 


The Prehistoric Hunter. a5 


stone tomahawk, could approach near enough to kill the swift-footed 
animals of the drift period, is explained by the fact that wild animals 
and birds do not naturally regard man as their enemy till he has 
taught them differently by attacking and wounding them. How 
often has the sportsman in the recesses of the Maine woods seen 
the ruffed grouse, only a few feet distant, walking leisurely across 
his path; while in cultivated sections of our country he is the 
most wary of birds, often disappointing the sportsman by springing 
up before him many yards beyond gun-shot. Also the squirrels, 
and even the deer, in regions where they have never been molested, 
do not exhibit that extreme fear of man which is usually attributed 
to them as part of their nature. It is also to be remembered that 
during the period of the drift, man must have been few in number 
compared with the game which he pursued, so that it took a long 
time before the animals over an extended area became aware that 
he was an enemy more dangerous than his size and appearance had 
led them at first to infer. 

But as the game became aware of this fact, man had to devise 
weapons which could be projected from the hunter to the now more 
wary and more distant game, and the necessity for such weapons led 
to the invention of the bow and arrow, the sling, the bola, the boom- 
erang, and the blow-gun. 

Even in our own days we have seen the change in the range of fire- 
arms advance with the increase of wariness in the game of the West. 
This education of animals in the knowledge of man’s killing power is 
also especially notable in the difficulty of now approaching the wild 
turkey, compared with the manner in which it could be killed during 
the early period of the history of this country. 


THe CavE-DWELLING HUNTER AND FISHERMAN. 


The men of the drift were sueceeded by the men of the caves,— 
so called because they used these natural shelters as dwellings. The 
flint and bone implements of these men, and the relics of their feasts, 
are found in the caves of Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, and Eng- 
land; but especially notable are the caves of the valleys of the rivers 
Dordogne and Vézére, in France. 


36 The Prehistoric Hunter. 


In the hardened beds of these caves are found flint and bone 
implements, and sketches and carvings on bones, which show that 
the men of the caves were much more advanced than the men of 
the drift. They hunted the same game,’ but it appears that the mam- 
moth and great elk had now diminished in numbers, and that the 
herds of reindeer had so increased that this period in the history of 
prehistoric man is often called the reindeer period. 

To the flint axes, spears, and knives of the drift-men, the cave- 
dweller had added the arrow and bow and fish-harpoons, the heads 
of which were skillfully and with great labor cut with flint-flakes out 
of the horn and bone of the reindeer. Some of these harpoons are 
armed with barbs along their sides; others are formed of lance- 
shaped pieces of bone, broad and hollow at their bases, showing 
that these were probably placed on the end of a shaft, and con- 
nected therewith by a long cord. On striking the fish the head of 
the harpoon would separate from the shaft, and the fish could be 
played and landed by the cord. 

Mr. Phillips has shown, in his chapter on “The Primitive Fish- 
hook,” that the cavé-dwellers probably used a flint-flake, or splinter, 
ina manner similar to the baited needle used in these days in ‘ snig- 
gling” for eels and pike. A similar angling implement, made of 
bone, has been found among the relics of the pile-dwellers in the 
Swiss lakes, and our Indians of Frenchman’s Bay, Maine, seem to 
have used a like angling tool. According to Dr. Keller (‘‘ Lake- 
dwellings of Switzerland and other parts of Europe”), the sniggler 
yet survives in Switzerland, where it is used for catching wild ducks. 

The fish-bones and carvings found in the caves show that their 
inhabitants speared or caught the salmon, trout, pike, and carp. 

Though whistles made of the foot-bone of the reindeer, with a 
hole in one side near the bottom of the cavity, have been found in 
the caves, yet they were 
not used as dog-calls, for 
the relics of the caves do 
not show that they had this 
animal as assistant in the 
chase and companion and & 
protector. By blowing 
into one of these whistles, 


PREHISTORIC CARVING IN IVORY. 


a sound is produced that can be heard at a considerable 
distance. ‘‘ How many thousands of years,” says Dr. Rau, 
in his “ Early Man in Europe,” ‘may have elapsed since 
the sharp call of those whistles rallied the savage hunters 
when they were following the track of the reindeer or 
the horse !” 

In their habits of life, the cave-dwellers resembled the 


FISH-SPEARS, LA 


to the Esquimos does not stop here. They are also alike 
in having similarly formed flint and bone implements, and 
in their peculiar talent for carving with flint-flakes on 
stone and bone. 

The cave-men were clad in furs. These they cut into 
shape with flint knives, and made into garments by sewing 
them together with the sinews of reindeer, threaded on bone 
needles. On their hands and arms they wore long fur gloves, 
to protect them from the intense cold. 


The Prehistoric Hunter. 


They left the remains of their feasts around 
them in their caves. They could not have 
lived amidst such refuse except in an arctic 
climate; and this supposition is confirmed by 
the fact that the bones of the musk-ox and eee: 
reindeer which are found in these caves be- KENTS' CAVERN. 
long to animals which now live only within or quite 
near the arctic circle. That a cold climate then existed 


is also shown from the bones of birds, whose variety 
also proves that they were expert fowlers. The snowy- 
owl,—now only found in the cold north,—the arctic 
willow-grouse, the ptarmigan, the capercailzie, and a 
species of crane, were the feathered game of these old 
sportsmen. 

In the cave of La Madelaine, in the valley of the 
Vézéres, has been found a bone lance-head, 
on which is engraved a flock of birds, presum- 
ably ducks, as they scud along the water just 


before rising on the wing.* 
But this resemblance of the cave-dwellers 


HARPOON- 
POINT, OF 
BONE AND 


* See “ Reliquize Aquitanics:; of Christy and Lartet,” p. 24, fig. s. NEPHRITE. 


38 The Prehistoric Hunter. 


Armed with their bows, and lances and arrows tipped with 
flint, and carrying at their sides poignards of reindeer horn, with 
beautifully carved handles, the men of the caves set out in pursuit 
of the urus, the wild horse, and the reindeer; and if such formid- 
able beasts as the mammoth, the cave-bear, or lion came in their way, 
they did not hesitate to give them battle. In one of the caves have 
been found several incisors of the cave-bear and the lion, on which 
(with flint-flakes) are admirably depicted various denizens of the 
forest, the stream, and the sea. These teeth are perforated at their 
roots, and no doubt were once strung in a necklace to adorn some 
ancient Nimrod, mighty among those who dwelt in caves. 

The bones of the larger animals, like the mammoth and 
woolly rhinoceros, are rare in the caves. This is easily accounted 
for. The hunters, after bringing down such large game, would, 
after the fatigue and excitement of such a great hunt, make a feast 
on the spot where the huge victim fell, and cutting up the carcass 
with their flint knives, they would carry what they could to the 
caves for their wives and little ones. ‘We can picture to our- 
selves,” says Mr. Dawkins (“Early Man in Britain”), “the camp 
around the carcass, and the fires kindled not merely to cook the 
flesh, but to keep away the beasts of prey attracted by the scent of 
blood. The tribe assembled around, and the dark trunks of the oaks 


or Scotch firs lighted up by the blaze, with hyenas lurking in the 


background, are worthy of the brush of a future Rembrandt.” 


Tue Hunrer anp FISHERMAN OF THE SEA-SHORE AND THE Fyorp. 


The arctic climate in which the men of the river-drift and the 
cave-dwellers lived slowly gave place to a climate more like that of 
our own age. During this climatic change, the mammoth, the Irish 
elk, the great bear and cave-lion disappeared, while the reindeer, 
musk-ox, chamois and ibex either slowly migrated to arctic regions 
or moved to alpine heights where they could have the cold suited to 
their natures. 

Man changed his habits with the change of climate. He appears 
now as a dweller on the shores of the sea and an inhabitant of huts 
built on piles driven into the bottom of lakes. Living near and on 
the water, he becomes an angler as well as hunter. 


The Prehistoric Funter. 39 


Along the shores of the Danish island of Zealand and the fjords 
of Jutland are found vast deposits of shells, the remains of 
feasts. Some of these shell-heaps are a thousand feet long and 
nearly two hundred feet in width. _They are formed of the shells of 
the oyster, cockle, mussel, and periwinkle. Among these are found 
the bones of ducks, swans, and geese, of the great penguin, or auk, 
and of the large grouse known as the capercailzie (7etvao urogallus. ) 
“This bird, no longer found in Denmark, though still inhabiting the 
forests of Germany, deserves special mention. In spring it feeds 
chiefly on the buds of the pine, a kind of tree not growing naturally 
at present in Denmark, but very common during the stone age, as 
has been ascertained by the examination of Danish peat bogs. 
Thus it would seem that the disappearance of the pine from Den- 
mark caused the capercailzie to leave that country.” Bones of the 
sparrow are never found in these shell-heaps. (Happy people !) 

The ducks, geese, and swans which these fowlers hunted they 
may have killed in a manner similar to that described, as follows, by 
Col. W. H. Gilder in “Among the Esquimos with Schwatka” 
(“Scribner's Monthly,” vol. 22, p. 81): 


“A most novel and interesting method of bird-catching is practiced during the spring 
and early summer, while the ducks and geese are molting and unable to fly. The 
Esquimo puts his 4y~k—that is, his seal-skin canoe—on his head, like an immense 
hat, and repairs to the big lake, or the sea-side, where he has seen the helpless birds 
swimming and feeding in the water. Here he launches his frail bark, and when seated, 
which is not always accomplished without a ducking, takes his double-bladed oar in his 
hands, and at once starts in pursuit of the game. Before him, on his £ya’, where he 
can seize it at the propermoment, lies his duck-spear, together with other implements of 
the chase. Cautiously approaching the featherless flock, he sometimes gets quite near 
before his presence is observed; but even then, before he is within striking distance, 
there is a great spluttering in the water, as the band scatters in every direction, vainly 
beating the water with the curious looking stumps that soon will wear their plumage 
and once more do duty as wings. Some dive below the surface and come up a great 
way off, and always just where you are not looking for them; but as the flock takes 
alarm, the hunter dashes forward, feeling the necessity for speed rather than for caution. 
He is soon within fifteen or twenty feet of the struggling mass, and, seizing a curious- 
looking spear, with three barbs of unequal length, he poises it for a moment in the air, 
and then hurls it with unerring aim at the devoted bird, impaling it with a sharpened 
iron or bone spike in the center of the barbs. The handle of the spear is of wood, 
and floats on the surface of the water, so that the hunter can recover his weapon and 
the game at his leisure.” 


40 The Prehistoric Hunter. 


From the existence in these shell-heaps, or ‘ kitchen-middens,” of 
the bones of the cod, herring, flounder, and eel, we may infer that 
these fishermen had boats, made like the Esquimo £ya&, of seal- 
skins; or, more probably, they used dug-outs, hollowed by the 
action of fire and the cuts of their stone axes and gouges. In these 
they ventured on the sea to take these fish. They also hunted the stag, 
the roe, the wild boar, urus, wolf, fox, lynx, beaver, seal, and otter, 
for the bones of these animals are found in the kitchen-middens, split 
lengthwise with flint tools, whose marks are seen on them. They 
thus extracted the marrow from the bones and the brain from the skulls. 
The bones of the hare are wanting. Perhaps, like the Laplanders 
of our day, they had superstitious notions concerning this animal 
which prevented them from slaying him. — 

The bones of the animals of the kitchen-middens are gnawed 
dog-fashion, showing that the dog now first appears as the com- 
panion of man. He was also man’s victim, for his skull is often 
found split open so that his brain could be eaten. Let us give 
these people the credit of supposing that they sacrificed one of 
their own household only on great ceremonial occasions, as is the 
case with our Indians. 


Tue Hunter anD ANGLER OF THE LAKES. 


Far more interesting than the remains in the kitchen-middens 
are the relics found at the bottom of the lakes of Switzerland, 
Germany, France, and Italy. During the winter of 1854, the water 
in the Swiss lakes sank to a very low level, and gave the dwellers 
along the shore the opportunity of adding to their lands by building 
walls along the low water-line. During these constructions at Meilen, 
on Lake Zurich, stone, bronze, and bone implements and fragments 
of pottery were brought to light. The tops of piles were also 
found, and this led to the discovery of the habitations of ancient 
men. They lived in dwellings built on piles, somewhat after the 
manner of savages in Venezuela and in some Polynesian and Asiatic 
Islands. Similar dwellings are inhabited by certain African tribes 
in Dahomey and in Lake Mohrya. Even in our own country there 
is a lacustrine village at St. Malo Pass, near Lake Borgne, Louisiana, 
where dwell Malay fishermen from the Philippine Islands.* 

* In “ Harper’s Weekly,” March 31, 1883. 


The Prehistoric Hlunter. AI 


The houses forming the villages of the pesemmessee 


i 


European lake-dwellers were constructed of a 
framework of wood, interwoven with withes 
and encased in mud. The roofs were thatched, 
and a hole in the roof let out the smoke, 
which arose from slabs of stone on which they 
built their fires. Many of these houses, of 
rectangular and circular forms, were erected 
on one large platform, of two or three acres 
in area, supported by the piles. A narrow 
causeway, often two thousand yards and more 
in length, led from the village to the shore, ARROWHPAD FROM PILE-DWELL~ 


NG IN LAKE BIENNE, SWITZER- 


thus giving them protection from hostile tribes 1%4NP—FRom cotLEction oF 
5 5 ALFRED M. MAYER. 


and from the attacks of ferocious beasts. 

In some of the smaller lakes, mounds were formed of sticks, 
trunks of trees, stones and loam, with piles driven in their midst to 
give stability to this foundation. The dwellings on these mounds, 
with their interwoven withes and encasement of mud, must have 
appeared like huge beaver-houses. Probably the beaver was their 
first instructor in lacustrine architecture. 

From the relics of these people, we can quite accurately reproduce 
their life. They clothed themselves in skins and fabrics woven of 
flax, and were armed with axes—no longer roughly chipped, but 
now handsomely formed and polished—mounted in sockets of elk 
horn, which were fastened to wooden handles. They carried bows 
made of yew, and arrows and spears armed with neatly shaped, sharp 
flints which were fastened to the shafts with asphalt and firm 
wrappings of the tendons of the stag. It is probable that they were 
dexterous in the use of the sling. They constructed dug-outs, in which 
they paddled over the lakes, and angled from them with their bone 
snigglers, and hooks made of the tusks of the wild boar for the great 
lake trout and the huge pike. They also fished with nets woven 
of flax. 

During a later period in their history, bronze was introduced, and 
then their arms became more effective and more elegant in form, 
although similar to the same weapons previously made of stone and 
bone. The greatest advance the use of bronze produced was in 
their angling tools, for their hooks of bronze are nearly as perfect in 


42 The Prehistoric Flunter. 


form and proportion as those used by the anglers of our own day, 
as is seen from an inspection of the bronze hook depicted in Mr. 
Phillips’s chapter on “ The Prehistoric Fish-hook.” 

While the aged men, women, and children were employed in 
forming weapons, canoes, agricultural tools, pottery, or in weaving 
cloths and nets, the men set out over the causeway,—some to lead 
their flocks to pasture and guard them from the wolves and bears, 
while others, taking to the mountains and the dells, hunted the elk, 
the stag, the urus, the bison, the roe-deer, the wild boar, and the 
brown bear; while others devoted their time to trapping the fox and 
the beaver. The hare they did not chase, although they were accom- 
panied by dogs. Indeed, the dog is now first seen in the history of 
prehistoric man as a companion, whose friendship, intelligence, and 
moral qualities were so highly appreciated by these hunters that they 
would not partake of his flesh. The skull of the dog is found un- 
broken among the relics at the bottom of the lakes. 

“ When evening draws near, smoke begins to rise from the huts, 
where the women are baking and cooking, for the men who have 
been hunting in the woods will soon return, armed with spear and bow, 
and loaded with the game killed by them. Those who have spent the 
day in fishing guide their boats homeward ; field laborers, returning 
from the cultivated patches along the shore, are seen to wend their 
way toward the bridge, driving before them the lowing cattle which 
were permitted to graze on the land during day-time, and are now 
to be stabled for the night among the huts, safe from the attacks of 
wolf and bear.” * 

Whence the lake-dwellers came, what language they spoke, and 
when they first built their lacustrine dwellings, are unanswered ques- 
tions. We know that men lived on these pile-dwellings many centuries 
before the discovery of bronze. At some stations, only stone imple- 
ments are found; at others, bronze and iron arms and tools overlie 
those of stone, showing that these places were the sites of dwellings 
during the many ages which must have elapsed from the neolithic, 
or recent stone age, through the bronze to the iron age. 

Among the coins found in the relics of the pile-dwellings at Marin. 
is one of Claudius, which goes to show that in Switzerland the lake- 


* «Barly Man in Europe,” by Charles Rau. A work giving, in the most interesting 
manner, an account of discoveries relating to prehistoric times. 


The Prehistoric Flunter. 43 


dwellers were living in their lacustrine villages as late as the first 
century after Christ; yet neither Caesar nor Pliny mentions these 
curious dwellings. 

The habitations in the eastern lakes seem to belong more to the 
stone age, while those in the west belong both to the age of stone 
and of bronze. 

Among these bronze implements we find axes, swords, daggers, 
spear and arrow heads, knives, chisels, sickles, and fish-hooks, which 
are as well adapted by their forms to their uses as any implements 
of the period of bronze. With the exception of the cross-bow, which 
they do not appear to have used, their arms were as _ effective 
as any which preceded the period when gunpowder introduced 
entirely different types of weapons. 


ui 


BANG i GANIE 


In pastures, measureless as air, 
The bison is my noble game; 
The bounding elk, whose antlers tear 
The branches, falls before my aim. — 6 
; — Bryant. 


DEE BEACK BEAR... 
va 
By CHARLES C. WARD. 


S 


HE black bear ( Ursus A mericanus ) derives its name from its fur, 
which is a rich, warm, and extremely glossy jet black, except 
on the muzzle, where, beginning at the mouth, the hair is a 
fawn color, which deepens into the dark tan color of the face, and 
ends in rounded spots over each eye. These color-marks and its 
peculiarly convex facial outline are the distinguishing marks of the 
species. The tan color becomes, with age, a brownish gray. The 
largest black bear I ever saw weighed five hundred and twenty-three 
pounds, and measured six feet and four inches from the tip of the 
nose to the root of the tail. One of this species seems to possess 
the power of transforming himself at will into a variety of shapes. 
When stretched out at length, he appears very long; when in good 
condition, short and stout; when upright, tall; and when asleep, he 
looks like a ball of glossy black fur. The black bear of to-day may 
be termed omnivorous, inasmuch as fish, flesh, fowl, vegetables, fruit, 
and insects are all eagerly devoured by him. He mates in October, 
and the period of gestation lasts about one hundred and twenty days. 
Two to four cubs form a litter. The cubs are always jet black, and 
not ash color, as some of the older naturalists affirm. If, according 
to Flourens, the natural life of an animal be five times the period of 
its growth to maturity, I should think that the black bear's limit was 
about twenty years. I knew of a cub which increased in size until 
his fourth year, when he appeared to have arrived at maturity. 
Many country people and some experienced hunters have seen, 
as they believe, another species of the black bear, which they name 
a ranger, or racer. He is described as being a longer, taller, and 


4 49 


50 The Black Bear. 


thinner animal than the black bear proper, extremely savage, and ‘is 
distinguished by a white star or crescent on his breast. Marvelous 
tales are related of his ruthless doings, and any act of more than 
ordinary ferocity and daring, such as the wanton destruction of a 
large number of sheep, in daylight, in sight of the farm-house, is 
always attributed to a ranger. It is also said of him that he never 
hibernates, but prowls about all winter, seeking what he may 
devour, and keeping the farmers constantly on the alert to protect 
their stock. I have never had sufficient proof to warrant belief in 
the existence of a ranger bear, but have occasionally met with 
specimens of the black bear answering in some points to the above 
description. For instance, I have seen several black bears with 
white crescents on their breasts. The truth probably is that at 
times, during mild winters, a stray black bear may be seen prowling 
about, when, in accordance with all accepted ideas on the subject, he 
should be fast asleep. This probable fact, and the variation in size 
and form common to all animals, no doubt account for the popular 
belief in the existence of the ranger bear. 

The time when the black bear selects the den in which his long 
winter nap is taken depends on the openness or severity of the 
season. In any season, he is seldom met abroad after the first of 
December, and he is not seen again until the first warm days of 
March. He does not seem particular as to the character of his den, 
provided it shields him from the inclemency of the weather. A retreat 
dug by his powerful claws under the roots of a windfall, a rocky cave 
on the hill-side, or a hollow log, if he can find one large enough to 
admit him, will serve for a winter home. When he is ready to 
hibernate, he is in fine condition and his fur is at its best. When he 
comes out in the spring, he is in a sorry condition, and is seldom 
molested unless he makes himself troublesome to farmers. Numer- 
ous, and curious beyond belief, have been the theories and explana- 
tions offered by naturalists to account for the suspension of the 
functions of nature during hibernation. An Indian whom I have 
found to be trustworthy has often called my attention to fir-trees 
which had been freshly stripped of their bark, to a distance of five or 
six feet from the ground, and has told me that it was the work of 
bears that were after the balsam, large quantities of which, according 
to the Indian, they eat every autumn before going into their dens. 


HEAD OF BLACK BEAR (URSUS AMERICANUS). 


DRAWN BY JAMES C. BEARD, AFTER A SKETCH BY CHARLES C. WARD. 


The Black Bear. 53 


It was his theory that the balsam prevented bodily waste, and that 
when the bears came out in the spring they dug up and ate large 
quantities of a root which had the effect of restoring bodily functions 
that had been suspended during the period of hibernation. The den 
is sometimes revealed by a small opening over the bear’s place of 
concealment, where the snow has been melted by his breath. When 
efforts are made to dislodge him, by making a fire of boughs and moss 
at the entrance to his den, he will attempt to trample the fire out, and 
often succeeds. He has, however, a natural dread of fire, and at the 
first signs of a forest-fire becomes greatly alarmed, and flies to the 
open clearings and roadways. | once passed on horseback through 
a forest-fire which was burning on each side of the road, and most of 
the distance I was accompanied by a large black bear, that was fol- 
lowing that avenue of escape. 

It would seem improbable that the young of the black bear were 
liable to fall a prey to the fox and black cat, or fisher, yet such is the 
fact. This happens, of course, when the cubs are very young and 
incapable of following their dam in her search for food. The black 
cat is the most successful cub-slayer. The fox, notwithstanding his 
proverbial sagacity, is often surprised by the return of the bear, and 
is killed before he can escape from the den. An Indian hunter, who 
knew of two litters of cubs which he intended to capture as soon as 
they were old enough to be taken from their dam, was anticipated in 
one case by a black cat, and in the other by a fox. The latter paid 
the penalty of his adventure with his life, and was found in the den 
literally torn into shreds by the furious bear. The fox had killed 
one of the cubs, when the old bear surprised and dispatched him, 
and went off with the two remaining cubs. The Indian overtook and 
slew her and captured the cubs. Upon another occasion, he was not 
so fortunate. Stimulated by the large price offered by the officers of 
a garrison town fora pair of live cubs, he was indefatigable in his 
endeavors to find a den. One day, when accompanied by his little 
son, a boy of ten, he discovered unmistakable traces of a bear's den, 
near the top of a hill strewn with granite bowlders, and almost 
impassable from the number of fallen pines. One old pine had fallen 
uphill, and its upreared roots, with the soil clinging to them, formed, 
with a very large rock, a triangular space into which the snow had 
drifted to a depth of ten or twelve feet. The Indian was about to 


4A 


54 The Black Bear. 


pass on, when he detected the whining of bear-cubs. By making a 
dcétour, he reached a place on a level with the bottom of the bowlder, 
and there saw the tracks of an old bear, leading directly into the 
center of the space between the tree-root and the bowlder. The old 
bear, in her comings and goings, had tunneled a passage under the 
snow-drift. Getting down on his hands and knees, the Indian, with 
his knife held between his teeth, crept, bear fashion, into the tunnel. 
After entering several feet, he found the usual bear device —a path 
branching off in two directions. | While pondering what to do under 
such circumstances, a warning cry came from his little son, who was 
perched on the top of the bowlder, and the next instant the old bear 
rushed into the tunnel and came into violent contact with the Indian, 
the shock causing the tunnel to cave in. The Indian, after dealing 
the bear one blow, lost his knife in the snow, and seized the bear 
with his hands; but she proved too strong for him, and was the first 
to struggle out of the drift, when, unfortunately, she met the little 
Indian boy, who had climbed down to his father’s rescue. He 
received a tremendous blow on the thigh from the bear’s paw as she 
passed, which crippled him for life. Four days afterward the Indian, 
determined to avenge the injury of his son by slaying the old bear, 
returned to the den and discovered her lying dead upon the snow in 
front of the bowlder: his one blow had gone home, and the poor 
creature had crawled back to her young to die. The Indian dug 
away the snow and found three cubs that were dead or dying. 

The principal strongholds of the black bear at the present day 
are the great forests of Maine and New Brunswick. My own obser- 
vation and the reports of farmers lead me to think that Bruin is 
growing more carnivorous and discontented with a diet of herbs 
Assuredly, he is growing bolder. He is also developing a propen- 
sity to destroy more than he can eat, and it is not improbable that 
his posterity may cease to be frugi-carnivorous. It is fortunate that 
an animal of the strength and ferocity which he displays when 
aroused seldom attacks man. The formation of his powerful jaws 
and terrible canine teeth are well adapted to seize and hold his prey, 
and his molars are strong enough to crush the bones of an ox. His 
great strength, however, lies in his fore-arms and paws. His mode 
of attacking his prey is not to seize it with his teeth, but to strike 
terrific blows with his fore-paw. 


The Black Bear. 5S 


Bruin’s weakness is for pork, and to 
obtain it he will run any risk. When the 
farmers, after suffering severe losses at 
his hands, become unusually alert, he 
retires to the depths of the forest and 


solaces himself with a young moose, 


> 


SKULL OF BLACK BEAR. 


caribou, or deer. He seldom or never 
attacks a full-grown moose, but traces of desperate encounters, in 
which the cow-moose has battled for her offspring, are frequently met 
with in the woods. The average value of a bear, including the 
bounty, is twenty dollars. This being the case, it may appear sur- 
prising that larger numbers are not taken. But the black bear com- 
bines extreme cunning with great sagacity, and every year he seems 


‘to be getting more on his guard, and suspicious of all devices in- 


tended for his capture. Large, full-grown 
animals are seldom killed. A black bear 
skin, taken at the proper season, is not 
excelled by any other kind of fur. If prop- 
erly dressed, it possesses great softness and 
a gloss peculiar to itself. The fur is highly 
esteemed in Europe, where it is used for 


sleigh and carriage robes and coat linings 
and trimmings. It is also in much request ae ae 

in England and other parts of Europe, for the shakos of certain 
infantry regiments and the housings and trappings of cavalry. 

In the autumn of 1879, in the Red Rock district, Province of 
New Brunswick, eighteen bears were killed, only two of which had 
arrived at maturity ; some of them were only yearlings. Only ten or 
twelve settlers and their families inhabit the district, and during that 
year seventy-three head of stock, including sheep, hogs, and horned 
cattle, were destroyed by bears. This dis- 
trict, situated on the extreme outskirts of 
civilization, is the bear’s paradise. The 
houses in most cases are built of logs, and 
the occupants are a stalwart, simple race, 
whose manners and customs carry you 
back to the frontier life of half a century 
HIND-PAWS. ago. They are hospitable to a degree not 


56 The Black Bear. 


often met with at the present day. The farms on which they live 
are clearings in the primeval forests. During a visit to this district, I 
had the luck, unexpectedly, to see Bruin at home in one of his wild- 
est retreats. North of the settlement a range of rocky hills rises 
perpendicularly from the shores of a forest lake. The hills are strewn 
with gigantic bowlders, over which the hunter must pick his way 
with no little difficulty and danger. But by that expert climber, the 
black bear, such rugged ground is easily traversed. Our tramp had 
been a long one, and on our return my Indian guide proposed that 
we should cross the Red Rock hills, and thus save much time, 
Great black clouds threatened an autumn storm. After much hard 
climbing, we reached a place where the whole hill-side seemed riven 
apart. On every side we were surrounded by precipices and deep 

gulches, partly filled with great bowlders and sharp fragments of | 
rocks. Although the dangers were not of Alpine magnitude, they 
might just as well have been, inasmuch as they were greater than we 
had any means of overcoming. In attempting to find a way out, we 
clambered along a ledge of rocks that afforded only insecure footing, 
and gradually diminished in width until all farther progress in that 
direction became impracticable. Retracing our steps, almost in 
despair of finding an outlet, we came to a fissure in the cliff just wide 
enough to admit one at a time. Fora distance of twenty feet we 
were able to walk in an upright position; then the passage narrowed 
rapidly, and we had to crawl upon our hands and knees in almost 
perfect darkness. Presently we came to a place where the opening 
was so low that, if one attempted to straighten up, his back came in 
contact with a solid wall of rock; thence the passage took a sharp 
downward pitch, at the bottom of which we found a space sufficiently 
large to permit us to regain an upright position. The darkness was 
now complete, and, not daring to move for fear of getting a fall, I 
thought it prudent to return to the ledge, and imparted my intention 
to the guide. I received no reply, and called out in a louder voice. 
To my surprise, the answer came in a muffled tone from a locality 
apparently directly under me. By this time my eyes had become 
accustomed to the gloom, and I detected a bluish, glimmering 
light on the rocky wall overhead, proceeding from a distant cor- 
ner of the space in which I stood. Creeping to the source 
of the light, I found a wedge-like opening, decreasing in 


The Black Bear. 57 


BEAR AND CUBS. 


width as it descended. While debating with myself what to do 
next, the guide’s head appeared at the bottom of the opening. He 
called to me to come down. Entering in a recumbent position, feet 
foremost, I slipped down and discovered that the passage led into 
another chamber-like space, with the difference that it was in open 
daylight, the sky being visible beyond an overhanging ledge of 
rocks. The rocky platform was strewn with bones, and plentifully 
sprinkled with porcupine quills. The information of the guide was 
not needed to convince me that we were in the ante-chamber of a 
bear’s den, and that the room above was the den proper. It seems 
almost incredible that the black bear should permit such an offensive 
animal as the porcupine to occupy the same den with him, but there 
is good reason to believe that he sometimes does so. Although it 
was too early in the season for Bruin to seek permanent winter 
quarters, I did not feel at all certain that he might not pay occasional 
visits to his den, and urged the guide to get out of the place as soon 
as possible. As there was likely to be more than one entrance to 
the den, we looked about us and discovered that, by climbing over a 
jutting ledge of rock, we should be able to get upon a lower and 


53 The Black Bear. 


ars ih 


“ 


holes 
NNT y 
i ses. &,, 


THE INDIAN. 


much more extensive plateau of rock immediately under the den. 
We reached the platform safely, and, selecting a spot where we were 
sheltered and concealed by bowlders, we called a halt and lighted 
our pipes. A slight tap on the shoulder caused me to turn around, 
and, looking in the direction indicated by the guide, I saw a large 
bear seated on his haunches and looking intently at something. 
Farther away I saw another bear, crossing a chasm on an old pine- 
log that bridged it, and which afterward helped us out of our dilemma. 
Another tap on the shouider, and another surprise in store for me; 
for, up the hill-side, above the den, sat another bear with his head 
partly turned to one side, and looking in an inquiring manner at the 
two bears below him. By this time the one on the log had nearly 
crossed over, and the one sitting on his haunches growled frightfully. 
We were not fifty yards from him, and he might at any moment de- 
tect our presence; fortunately, we were well to leeward of him. We 
had been exploring a stream connecting a string of lakes, to exam- 


The Black Bear. 59 


ine a very extensive and perfect beaver-dam, and, not expecting to 
hunt, had left our rifles at the camp. All I had to fight with was a 
solid sketch-book, while, by some strange fatality, the Indian had 
in our climb even lost his knife out of its sheath. I was looking 


THE BEAR PASS, 


about for some way of escape, when I noticed that the bear on the 
hill-side had vanished, and the one that crossed over on the log had 
moved toward the one sitting on his haunches. They sat about ten 
feet apart, and made the strangest noise | ever heard. Commencing 
with the sniff peculiar to the bear, the noise was prolonged into a 
deep, guttural growl, accompanied by a peculiar champing of the 
jaws. At that moment, a large stone, evidently dislodged by the 
bear that had vanished from the hill-side, came tumbling down the 
ravine. It struck on the solid ledge on which we were crouching, 
and broke into pieces. Instinctively looking up, in apprehension 
that the fragment might be the advance guard of an avalanche, we 
lost sight of the two bears, and never saw them again. Alarmed by 


60 The Black Bear. 


AFTER HONEY. 


the falling stone, they had swiftly and stealthily gone away. The 
guide said that the two bears which were on the ledge with us were 
males, and that, as it was the pairing season, the growling we were. 
treated to was merely the preliminary of a terrible fight. During 
the pairing season, the males congregate in bands and scour the 
forest, growling, snarling, and fighting. On such occasions, all pru- 
dent hunters avoid an encounter with them. The females are savage 
when suckling their young, and will fight to the death in their pro- 
tection. At all other seasons, both males and females avoid a meet- 
ing with human beings, but if attacked and wounded, or brought to 
bay, the black bear is a foe to be dreaded. Their keen scent and 
acute hearing enable them to detect the approach of an enemy, and 
to keep out of his way. 

Sometimes the black bear is hunted with dogs trained for the 
purpose. The dogs are not taught to seize the game, but to nip his 
heels, yelp around him, and retard his progress until the hunters come 
up and dispatch him with their rifles. Common yelping curs pos- 
sessed of the requisite pluck are best adapted for the purpose. 
Large dogs with sufficient courage to seize a bear would have but 
a small chance with him, for he could disable them with one blow of 
his powerful paw. Another way of hunting is to track Bruin to his 


The Black Bear. 61 


winter den, and either smoke or dig him out, when he may be dis- 
patched by a blow on the head with the poll of an ax as he struggles 
out. Various kinds of traps, set-guns, and dead-falls are also em- 
ployed against him. A very efficient means of capture is a steel trap, 
with double springs so powerful that a lever is necessary in setting it. 


A DEAD-FALL TRAP. 


The trap is placed in runs or pathways known to be frequented by 
bears, and concealed, care being taken not to handle the trap. A 
stout chain, with a grapnel or a large block of wood attached, is fast- 
ened to the trap. Even with this an old bear often manages to 
escape altogether, his sagacity teaching him to return and liberate the 
grapnel or block whenever it catches upon anything and checks him. 
He dies eventually, of course, if unable to free himself from the trap, 
but in some cases he has been known to gnaw off a part of his paw 
and leave it in the trap. This mode of capture is open to the charge 
of cruelty, as the bear is usually caught by a paw, and sometimes by 
the snout, and the injury not being immediately fatal, the animal 
may die a lingering death of great agony. The set-gun, if properly 
arranged, kills the bear instantly. The gun is placed in a horizontal 
position, about on a level with a bear’s height; one end of a cord is 
fastened to the trigger and brought forward in such a way that when 


62 The Black Bear. 


the bait is attached to the other end of the cord it hangs over the 
muzzle of the gun, and the least pull on the bait discharges the gun, 
which is protected from the weather by a screen of bark. The ordi- 
nary dead-fall consists of a number of stout poles driven in the 
ground in the form of a U. In front of the opening is placed a 
heavy log. The bait is suspended from a string within the inclos- 
ure so that it will be necessary for the bear to place his fore legs 
over the log in order to reach it. The string has connection with a 
piece of wood which props up the dead-fall, consisting of a heavy log 
of beech or birch timber weighted with other logs. When the bear 
pulls at the bait, the prop is drawn from under the heavy timber, 
which falls across his back. It sometimes happens that the hunter, 
to his discomfort, finds that his dead-fall has proved fatal to one of 
his own or his neighbor's cattle. 

In the autumn, bear-hunters take advantage of Bruin’s known 
partiality for raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries, and set traps 
and dead-falls in the approaches to the patches. He also frequents 
the beech-forests, and his expertness as a climber enables him to 
obtain the rich mast, on which he grows corpulent. In the spring, 
when he first comes from his win- 
ter quarters, he feasts upon the 
ants and grubs he discovers by 
industrious diggin 


reine, or by turn- 
ing over decayed logs. Later in 
the season, when the herrings 
and alewives run up the streams 
to spawn, Bruin turns fisherman, 
and captures the fish by inter- 
cepting them as they pass over 
shallow places, and scooping them out with his paws. His taste for 
pork and molasses and such delicacies often encourages him to visit 
the camps of lumbermen, where he sometimes makes sad havoc. 

If captured when very young and carefully trained, the black bear 
becomes tame, but I doubt if he ought to be trusted as a pet. My 
own efforts to tame young bears have not always proved successful. 
Tt is unpleasant, on returning from a journey, to find your house sur- 
rounded by the neighbors armed with old muskets and _ pitchforks, 
the windows broken, the gardens trodden down, your family impris- 


The Black Bear. 62 


SACKING A LUMBER CAMP. 


oned in the dining-room, and to be told by your man-servant, who 
has prudently kept outside of the house, that the pet bear, in a state 
of ferocity, is in possession. Nevertheless, if one is willing to endure 
that sort of thing, a vast amount of amusement can be got out of a 
tame bear. 

I really think that Bruin possesses the sense of humor ; at all 
events, his actions point that way, and there is no doubt that he is 
extremely cunning and observing. I once had an English friend 
visiting me, who played the flute. He was in the habit of marching 
up and down, while playing, near a tame bear I had at the time. 
The bear had a piece of stick about two feet long, which he tossed 
about for amusement. After a time, he came to handle the stick 
very much as my friend did his flute. This annoyed my sensitive 
friend, and in revenge he teased the bear with uncouth noises. Bruin 
sniffed and whined, and waited his opportunity for delivering a 


64 The Black Bear. 


tremendous blow with his paw at his enemy, whose tall hat was 
knocked completely over his eyes. He escaped being scalped by 
dropping flat and rolling out of the reach of the bear. This bear 
spent much of his time in the tree to which he was chained, and 
when climbing usually got his chain twisted over and under the 
branches in a most intricate manner, but never failed to take out 
every turn as he descended. A friend, who owned a tame bear, told 
me that, for a long time, he could not account for the mysterious way 
in which the poultry disappeared. Observing, at different times, a 
good many feathers around Bruin’s pole, he began to suspect that the 
bear was the culprit. Close watching confirmed his suspicions. 
When Bruin thought he was unobserved, he would seize any unfort- 
unate hen or chicken within his reach and devour it; but if any one 
approached before he could complete the meal, he would sit upon his 
prey until the danger of discovery had passed. He was betrayed, 
at last, by the cackling of an old hen that he had failed to silence. 


BEAR-HUNTING IN THE SOUTH. 


By JAMES GORDON. 


ROM my youth, bear-hunting has been to me a fascinating 
sport, and, after an experience of more than thirty years in 
all kinds of Southern sports, during which I have seldom 

failed to spend a portion of the winter camp-hunting in the Missis- 
sippi bottom, I think I may venture to relate one of my bear-hunts, 
and give the inexperienced sportsman some idea of the characteris- 
tics of the bear. 

We had pitched our tent on the banks of a beautiful sheet of 
water, one of the chain of lakes that drains the swamps of Tunica 
County, Mississippi, when the Father of Waters inundates the val- 
leys. Through these lakes and the bayous leading from them the 
annual overflows are carried off into the Coldwater, Tallahatchie, and 
Sunflower rivers, thence into the Yazoo, and back into the Mississipp1. 

Besides old Hannibal, a negro servant, there were only four of 
us in camp. One was a professional hunter, two were cotton-pl.nt- 
ers and experienced hunters—not simply sportsmen who occasion- 
ally spent a day of recreation in quail-shooting over a brace of 
pointers, but hunters who had studied wood-craft until it seemed like 
instinct to thread their way through the wilderness by day or night, 
without other compass than the moss on the north side of the trees. 

When a novice in wood-craft joins a party of old hunters, he is 
often subjected to many a practical joke ; although, at the same time, 
old hunters are very generous in imparting information or in rescu- 
ing him from danger. On this occasion, the target of our jokes was 
James Rogers, a fair-haired Northerner from “old Long Island's sea- 
girt shore,” an enthusiastic sportsman, a crack shot at pigeons, but 


5 6s 


66 Bear-Hunting wn the South. 


in our section almost as helpless as a babe,—the opposite, in every 
respect, of our backwoods hunter, whose pen-portrait I will endeavor 
to give. Living by hunting and trapping from boyhood, an unedu- 
cated frontiersman, he was the deaz zdeal of a hunter—clad in buck- 
skin hunting-shirt and leggins, with an otter-skin cap on his head 
and a’coon-skin pouch in which he carried his ammunition swung 
across his shoulders, and a short rifle in his hand; about five feet 
ten inches tall, round-bodied, but with no surplus flesh, and with 
muscles like corded steel. His hair was steel gray and inclined to 
curl where it fell below the temples. His features were regular, and 
by long exposure to sun, rain, and miasma were wrinkled and 
bronzed; but, clear and brilliant through a complexion like a tanned 
alligator-skin, sparkled a pair of merry blue eyes that indicated a 
soul as gay and free as the wild woods he loved so well. All through 
the swamps he was known as ‘‘Old Asa, the bear-hunter.” The two 
planters were Major Duncan and myself. 

When old Asa sounded his horn, about twenty-five dogs of all 
descriptions gathered around him; like their master they were 
trained hunters, and many bore the marks of Bruin’s claws. If you 
should ask the pedigree of old Beargrease or Bravo, the two most 
noted leaders of the pack, | should be compelled to admit that the 
vilest mongrel strains coursed through their veins. For there is no 
certainty in breeding them: often the most ‘ornary”-looking cur 
makes the best bear-dog. On my annual expeditions to the swamps, 
I was accustomed to buy, borrow, and “persuade” to follow, every 
specimen of the canine race I could pick up; and if out of a dozen I 
secured one who “took to bear,” I was lucky. 

A bear-pack requires dogs of various sizes. A few rough-haired 
terriers, active and plucky, that can fight close to Bruin’s nose and 
dodge under the cane when pursued; some medium-sized dogs to 
fight on all sides, and a few large, active curs to pinch his hind- 
quarters when he charges in front or crosses an opening in the 
woods. Bear-dogs must fight close, but not attempt to hold a bear ; 
you want them to hang on but not to hold fast. A well-trained pack 
will only seize hold at the same time when one of their number is 
caught; then they boldly charge to the rescue of their comrade, and 
as soon as he is freed, loose their holds and run. Then gathering 
around the bear again, they worry him until he climbs a tree, where 


Bear-FHlunting in the South. 67 


/ 


he falls an easy prey to the hunter. The hunter never cheers his 
pack unless he is in trouble and wants their assistance. 


IN THE FOREST. 


The bear usually makes his bed in the most impenetrable cane- 
brake. He cuts and piles up heaps of cane until he has a comfort- 
able spring mattress. He is very fastidious in his taste, and will 
not remain in a wet bed; so, after every spell of bad weather, he 
changes his quarters. In diet he has a wide, almost omniverous 
taste. In the summer, he is very destructive to the farmer's corn- 
fields, showing a decided relish for green corn or roasting ears, or fat 
pig or mutton as a side-dish, not refusing a pumpkin by way of des- 


sert. As the fall season approaches, he climbs after the wild grape, 


the succulent muscadine, the acorn, and the persimmon, and leaves 
his sign everywhere he travels, in heaps of hulls of pecan and scaly- 
bark hickory nuts. This is called the lapping ‘season, as he en- 
sconces himself in a tree-lap and breaks the limbs to pieces, in 
gathering nuts and fruits. He is also excessively fond of honey, and 
is utterly regardless of bee-stin 


wild bees from a hollow tree. 


rs while tearing to pieces a nest of 


os 
5 


68 Bear-Hunting in the South. 


Hunters sometimes entrap him by placing in his path a vessel 
containing whisky made very sweet with honey. Bruin is easily in- 
toxicated, and.very human in his drunken antics. I have seen him 
killed by negroes while lying helpless upon his back catching at the 
clouds; but such slaughter is unsportsmanlike, and no true hunter 
would resort to it. 

But old Asa and the dogs are off down the lake-side, and we fol- 
low in single file. 

Here, indeed, is the hunter’s paradise. Flocks of mallard, teal, 
and wild duck, covering acres of surface, are floating lazily upon the 
limpid water; on the other side, a dozen swans are gracefully glid- 
ing along. A flock of ungainly pelicans, with their huge mandibles 
scooping after minnows, waddle about the opposite shore. The wild 
goose is heard overhead, while the sentinel of the flock on the water 
replies. The white and blue crane, motionless as the sentinels of 
Pompeii, line the shore. The tall cypresses in the lake, with their 
fringed foliage, lift their weird knees out of the water and look 
lonely and desolate ; while the oaks and gums upon the shore, draped 
in clinging vines, festooned with moss, and reflected in the lake, add 
to the somber picture of the wilderness. The sycamores and cotton- 
woods are of immense size, some being ten feet in diameter. 


Bear-Flunting in the South. 69 


Old Asa turned from the lake and boldly entered a canebrake, we 
following. Here the foremost horse has the hardest time, for he 
must break the way for the rest through cane and bamboo-vines. 
Old Asa’'s horse, however, like his master, was a trained hunter, and 
would wait the stroke of the hunting-knife which cut the vines, to 
push on through the tangled mass. Going through cane, every one 
is required to take the cartridge from his gun; or, if he has a muzzle- 
loader, to take the cap from the tube. 


A HUNTER'S PARADISE. 


After crossing a canebrake ridge of half a mile, we entered a 
large, open wood, where we found a quantity of overcup acorn mast, 
upon which bear and deer feed during the winter months. Under 
the limb of a pawpaw we saw a fresh buck-scrape. This is made 
by the male deer, while scratching his antlers amid the branches 
above; he scrapes the earth with his feet, as a sign for his tawny 
mate. A little farther on, within easy range, we startled the antlered 
monarch from his lair; but not a gun was raised to arrest his flight. 
As the deer lifted his white flag and bounded off, the younger dogs 
pricked up their ears and looked anxiously forward, ready to burst 
forth in full cry; but a word ina harsh tone from old Asa caused 


5A 


70 Bear-Hunting in the South. 


= ~ = = 7 


OLD ASA CUTTING THROUGH THE CANEBRAKE. 


them to fall to the rear. ‘This is a bear-hunt, and these are bear- 
dogs,” said Asa, and we understood that no other game must be 
shot before them. On rainy days, we go out from camp, singly, and 
‘still-hunt” for deer; for then they are easily found, as they avoid 
the wet cane and feed in the open woods. 

‘“Here’s a b’ar sign!” exclaimed Asa, as he pointed to the foot 
of a large overcup acorn tree. Just then, a sound that vibrates 
through the hunter’s heart with a thrill of pleasurable emotion fell 
upon our ears. Of our pack of dogs only the reliable hunters, 
such as Bravo and Beargrease, are allowed full liberty in rang- 
ing the woods. There was the sound again! Bravo had struck 
a trail! Every dog rushed forward at the well-known signal 


Bear-Hunting in the South. 7 


of their leader; but the track was cold, and every nose was busy 
smelling among the leaves, trying to unravel its mystic wind- 
ings. We rode slowly along; old Beargrease made a circle, and 
struck the trail farther ahead. The old dog seemed to know he 
had solved the problem this time, for, sitting upon his haunches, 
he raised his head, and uttered his prolonged cry—which was to 
us a note of exquisite joy. Bravo, Granger, and twenty more 
joined in the chorus, and slowly, but surely and _ steadily, they 
moved along on the trail. ‘More sign!” shouted old Asa, 
presently; “here’s his stepping-path,” and he pointed to a path 
made by the bear as he passed to and fro from the canebrake. 
Here he explained to Rogers that the path was made by a habit the 
bear has of always putting his feet in precisely the same tracks ; this 
habit is often taken advantage of, and a trap is set in his path, or a 
gun is placed so as to kill or mortally wound him. 

“And this one, I can see by his signs, is a big fat old he,” added 
old Asa. 

“Now, look here, old fellow,” replied Rogers, ‘don’t test my 
credulity too far. I would like to know how you can tell a fat bear 
from a lean bear, or a he bear from a she bear, when you have 
never seen it.” 

“Little boy,” replied Asa, while a benevolent expression mocked 
the gay humor in his clear blue eye, ‘“‘ your education has been sadly 
neglected ;_ book-l’arnin’ may be very useful in town, but one grain 
of common sense is worth a bushel of college diplomas in the swamps. 
Now listen and l’arn wisdom; I know this is a fat b’ar, because his 
hind toe marks do not reach the fore ones; had he been poor, they 
would well-nigh have overlapped.” 

“ But how do you know it is a he bear, and a big he besides ?” 

“The Lord pity your ignorance, child! don’t you see whar he 
writ it up on that hackberry ?” 

“Well,” replied Roger, “you will have to interpret it; I can see 
nothing but meaningless scratches up there on the tree; what do 
you make of it?” 

“Look close,” replied Asa, ‘and you will see the tallest marks 
are the freshest; a young b’ar, feeling very large all by himself, 
wrote his name thar first; the way he does it, he places his back 
ag’in’ the tree and, turning his head, bites the bark as high as he can 


72 Bear-Hunting in the South. 


BEAR HIEROGLYPHICS. 


reach, which means, in b’ar lingo, ‘I’m boss of the woods—beware 
how you trespass on my domains.’ The next b’ar that comes along 
takes the same position and tries to outreach the first. Now, this old 
fellow has written in b’ar hiroglyphics*a foot higher, ‘Mind your 
eye, young un, you're a very small potato; I’m the hoss that claims 
preémption rights to these pastures.’ Another reason for knowing 
it’s a he b’ar is that the she’s have young about the third week in 
January, and it’s about that time. We hunt them in February by 
examining the cypress-trees, where they have left their marks climb- 
ing to their dens. The young ones, when first born, are not larger 
than a rat.” 

‘“T have read that the bear was a hibernating animal; how about 
that?” asked Rogers. 

“The b’ar becomes very fat in winter,” said Asa, “and his 
insides are so covered with fat that he has no room for food; ina 
cold climate he would lie up, but here he is tempted by the mild 
winters to keep traveling around.” 

While old Asa was giving our city friend this bit of natural 
history, the dogs were busy at work on the trail; the track was 


Bear-Hunting in the South. 72 


growing warmer. Suddenly they all dashed into the cane, when, 
whew /—with a snort and crash through the cane, as if all the fiends 
had broken loose from Tartarus, the bear was started from his lair. 
With a wild yell, we all followed, pell-mell, in pursuit. For a mile 
or more the bear seemed to gain upon his pursuers ; but, like a relent- 
less fate, the fierce pack stuck to his heels, while the hunters were 
slowly cutting their way through the cane. Old Asa led the way, 
with that intuition which belongs to the practiced woodsman and 
aids him in avoiding the heaviest canebrakes. 

Reaching a boggy bayou, we paused to listen for the pack. The 
baying of dogs underneath the heavy cane cannot be heard at a 
great distance; and, as we halted on our horses, we could hear no 
sound but the melancholy soughing of the winds through the lonely 
cypress. Old Asa leaped from his horse, and, telling us to keep 
silent, knelt and placed his ear close to the ground. For a few 
moments the silence was almost painful. Then springing to his feet, 
he exclaimed : 

“All right, boys! The b’ar has turned toward camp; I heard 
them distinctly; they are fighting very close.” 

‘How will we cross the bayou?” asked Rogers. “It would bog 
a saddle-blanket here.” 

“Follow me, young un,” said old Asa, “and I'll larn you what 
your school-master never did—how to cross a boggy bayou.” 

Then proceeding up the bayou, he selected a spot where the 
cypress-knees were thickest, and led the way safely across; then 
pushing rapidly forward, flanking the canebrake and keeping to the 
open woods, after a detour of a mile we were again in hearing of the 
pack. 

“He has turned back!” shouted old Asa. “Scatter out across 
the opening and some of us will get a shot!” 

We promptly obeyed the order, and soon heard ‘them coming, 
crashing madly through the canebrake. Presently out jumped 
the bear near Major Duncan’s stand, with the dogs pressing him 
like a legion of furies. As the major attempted to shoot, his horse 
wheeled, and before he could turn, the bear had seen him and 
turned back into the cane, preferring a score of dogs to one hunter; 
going farther down the cane, he again burst into the opening and 
crossed close to Rogers, who had dismounted and was standing by 


74 Bear-Hunting in the South. 


a fallen tree. As the bear leaped the log, Rogers fired. Although 
a bear is a large animal, yet when he is running he is not so good a 
target as one would think. If the reader will attempt to put a ball 
through the center of a barrel-head while it is in rapid motion he will 
have some idea of shooting at a running bear. Rogers missed, but 
the dogs, encouraged by the report of his gun, attacked with renewed 
vigor. Across the open woods, in plain view, we beheld a grand 
sight. As the dogs charged at the report of Rogers’s gun, Rocket, a 
large, active fellow (a cross between a mastiff and a greyhound), 
seeing the way clear, made a dash, and catching one of the bear's 
hind feet, tripped him so adroitly that he rolled over on his back, 
and before he could recover was covered with dogs. But a sweep of 
his huge paws scattered his foes in every direction. A few leaps and 
he again reached the canebrake, and soon we heard the dogs at bay. 
We dismounted, hitched our horses, and proceeded on foot to the 
scene of action. But it was slow work, for the bear always seeks the 
heaviest canebrake for his battle-ground. We had to creep and 
crawl, sometimes prostrate upon the ground, under the tangled mass 
of cane and vines, often having to use our hunting-knives in disen- 
tangling ourselves. 

Except old Asa, who carried a rifle, we were all armed with 
short, double-barrel shot-guns, loaded with buck and ball. This, in 
my judgment, is the most effective weapon for bears, as they are 
generally shot in a tree or on the ground at close quarters; and 
after the labors of a bear-chase the nerves are apt to bea little shaky 
for drawing a fine bead with a rifle. 

Cutting our way through the mass of cane, we reached the outer 
circle of dogs and beheld the bear sitting with his back against the 
trunk of a tree, his fore paws just touching the toes of his hind ones 
as they projected up in front of him. Thus, with his rear protected, 
he stood at bay, occasionally making a rush for a dog who had vent- 
ured too near, and when he had scattered his foes, returning to his 
position, pressed again in turn by the dogs he had pursued. It was 
a splendid picture—the huge beast, shaggy and grim, with the white 
froth dripping from his red lips and lolling tongue, beset on every 
side, fighting a host, relying alone upon the strength of his mighty 
arm to keep his foes at bay. At length, greatly worried, he resolved 
to do what a large, fat bear greatly dislikes, viz. take a tree. 


ae 


Bear-Fflunting in the South. 75 


AT BAY. 


Making a rush, as a feint to scatter his enemies, he sprang up into 
an oak and seated himself in a fork about twenty feet from the 
ground, 

By this time my companions had arrived, and it was agreed that 
Rogers, who had never killed a bear, should have the shot. He took 
his position in front of the tree and attempted to get a sight at the 
bear's head; but a bear's head is a bad target, as it is in constant 
motion, and the frontal bones are so sharp and hard that, unless the 
hunter makes a center shot, the ball will glance and do but little 
harm; moreover, when wounded, however slightly, the bear is almost 
sure to abandon the tree. At the report of Rogers’s gun, though 
slightly stunned by the glancing ball, Bruin threw his arms around 
the tree on the opposite side, and came down, as old Asa said, ‘like 
a streak of greased lightning.” The pack covered him as he touched 


76 Bear-Hunting tn the South. 


THE DEATH. 


the earth. Major Duncan rushed to the rescue of the dogs, who are 
almost sure to, get hurt if a bear is wounded; but the dogs were so 
thick the major could not shoot. I saw Bravo caught in Bruin’s 
arms, and saw the major push a couple of dogs aside and fire, but he 
only succeeded in knocking the brute down and releasing the old 
dog. At the same moment, a stroke of Bruin’s paw sent the major’s 
gun spinning through the air. The bear then rushed away into the 
canebrake. Around and around, within the space of a few hundred 
yards, the battle raged fiercely. The hunters were all scattered 
through the canebrake, when the bear chanced to head directly for 
Rogers, who fired and, as the bear charged, took to his heels, and but 
for the courage of the dogs would have been caught. 

At the report of the gun, the maddened pack covered the game 
again, and he had to stop to shake them off. Rearing on his hind 
feet, he would strike down with his fore paws, his long, sharp claws 
making the “fur fly” wherever they struck. The bear generally 
strikes downward, as he is pigeon-toed, and from the conformation of 
his fore-arm cannot well strike laterally when rampant. 

Rogers had gained on the bear by the dogs’ renewed attack, but 
as soon as Bruin had shaken them off, he again pursued his human 


Bear-Hunting in the South. 77 


foe, when old Asa, pushing Rogers aside, heroically stepped in front, 
and dropping on one knee, threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired. 
The bear, though mortally wounded, sprang upon him. I was close 
at hand, but could not shoot without the risk of hurting my friend. | 
shouted to the pack. Regardless of danger, the brave dogs rushed 
to the rescue, and again covered the bear, just as he had seized old 
Asa by the leg. I sprang forward, and reaching the opposite side 
struck a well-directed blow and fell back, leaving my knife in the 


OLD ASA IN TRIUMPH. 


monster's heart. The experienced hunter always strikes a bear from 
the opposite side to which he stands, as the bear is sure to turn to 
the side from whence he receives the blow; and woe to the unlucky 
hunter caught in his death-grasp. As the bear rolled over and 
expired, old Asa sprang to his feet and exclaimed, as he grasped 
my hand, ‘Bully for you, old pard! A leetle more an’ I would have 
been mince-pie for that tarnal critter, tryin’ to save Greeny, thar. 
Hoopee, good dogs!” And, at the voice of affection from their mas- 
ter, they gathered around him, while the old hunter sat on the carcass 
of the bear and caressed his battle-scarred pets, examining all of 
their wounds before he looked at his own. It proved to be an ugly, 
though not dangerous, bite on the calf of the leg. 

“Boys,” he said, “we are only a mile from camp, and if I can 
get to the bayou just outside of this cane, I can walk with less pain 
than I can ride through the brake.” 

Refusing all assistance, the old hunter started for camp alone, 


78 Bear-Hunting in the South. 


and, getting into the bayou, waded into the cold water, as he said, 
to numb the pain. We skinned and cut up the bear, which was no 
easy task, as a bear's hide does not peel off like a deer’s, but is tight 
on his body, like a hog’s, the removal of every inch requiring the 
assistance of the knife. We reached camp by dark, and found old 
Asa with his leg poulticed with medicinal herbs, in the virtues of 
which he was well acquainted. Wounded as he was, the old man 
was the life of the camp. He smoked his pipe and cracked jokes at 
everybody. Calling Hannibal, he instructed him in the mysteries of 
making a “filibuster.” He first took the caul-fat, or bear’s hand- 
kerchief, and spread it out on the inside of the fresh hide; then he 
cut slices of liver and choice bits of bear-meat, in the selection of 
which he was'a connoisseur. Between the layers he placed a very 
thin slice of bacon, all the time rolling it in the caul-fat, occasionally 
inserting sprigs of fragrant spice-wood, as he said to give it a flavor, 
until a large meat sandwich was made. Then, sticking a wooden 
skewer through it, he roasted it before the fire. Anda more savory 
dish never regaled the palate or olfactories of a hungry hunter. 

In summing up the casualties of the fight, we found two dogs 
killed and seven wounded—three severely. Quiet at length settled 
upon our camp, the hoot of the barred owl alone breaking the still- 
ness of the night. But it did not disturb the peaceful dreams of dogs 
or hunters, or of Hannibal, snoring to the accompaniment of the 
kettle, which hummed a lullaby as it prepared the head of Bruin for 
to-morrow’s repast. 


eS ee ee ———— 
ee cad 


FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND. 


| 
By ROWLAND E. ROBINSON. 


In New England and some of 
the northern and middle States, 
the fox is hunted with two or 


three hounds, or oftener with only 
one, the hunter going on foot and 


armed with a shot-gun or rifle, his 
method being to shoot the fox as 


it runs before the hounds. The 
fox is proverbially the most cunning of 
beasts, often eluding by his tricks the most 
expert hunter and the truest hounds. Long 
walks are required, which take one over 
many miles of woods, hills, and fields, and 
2 = _ this in fall and winter when the air is always 
pure and bracing. 

In New England, the hunt is for the red fox and his 
varieties; the silver and cross foxes, the gray fox of the south and 
west being almost, if not quite, unknown. From the tip of his nose 
to the root of his tail, the red fox measures about twenty-eight or 
thirty inches, his tail sixteen to eighteen inches including hair, and 
his height at the shoulder thirteen inches. His long fur and thick, 
bushy tail make him look larger and heavier than he is. Of several 
specimens which I have weighed, the largest tipped the beam at 
twelve pounds; the least at seven pounds. The general color is 
yellowish red; the outsides of the ears and the fronts of the legs and 

* feet are black; the chin and usually the tip of the tail, white; and 


79 


80 Fox-Hunting in New England. 


the tail darker than the body, most of its hairs being tipped with 
black. The eyes are near together and strongly express, as does 
the whole head, the alert and cunning nature of the animal. 

The cross fox, much scarcer than the red, is very beautiful. It is 
thus described by Thompson: ‘A blackish stripe passing from the 
neck down the back and another crossing it at right angles over the 


‘“AN HONEST FOX MUST: LIVE.” 


shoulders; sides, ferruginous, running into gray on the back; the 
chin, legs, and under parts of the body, black, with a few hairs tipped 
with white; upper side of the tail, gray; under side and parts of the 
body adjacent, pale yellow; tail tipped with white. The cross upon 
the shoulders is not always apparent, even in specimens which, from 
the fineness of the fur, are acknowledged to be cross foxes. Size, the 
same as the common fox.” 

The black or silver fox is so rare in New England that to see one 
is the event of a life-time. The variety is as beautiful and valuable 
as rare. Its color is sometimes entirely of a shining black, except 
the white tip of the tail, but oftener of a silvery hue, owing to an 
intermixture of hairs tipped with white. It has probably always 
been uncommon here, for it is said to have been held in such estima- 
tion ‘by the Indians of this region, that a silver fox-skin was equal 
in value to forty beaver-skins, and the gift of one was considered a 


Fox-Hunting in New England. 81 


sacred pledge. One often hears of silver foxes being seen, but, like 
the big fish so often lost by anglers, they almost invariably get away. 


AFTER A BREAKFAST. 


Foxes are less rare in settled countries and on the borders of 
civilization than in the wilderness, for, though they find no fewer 
enemies, they find more abundant food in the open fields than in the 
forest. The common field-mouse is a favorite in their bill-of-fare ; 
and the farmer's lambs and the good wife’s geese and turkeys never 
come amiss therein. These are all more easily got than hares or 
grouse. In justice to Reynard it must be said, however, that when 
mice are plenty, lambs and poultry are seldom molested. In times 
of scarcity, he takes kindly to beech-nuts in the fall, and fills him- 
self with grasshoppers and such small deer in the summer. When 
these fail—why, what would you? An honest fox must live. 

When not running before the hounds, he is seldom seen in day- 
time, except it may be by some early riser whose sharp eye discerns 
him in the dim dawn, moving in meadow or pasture, or picking his 
stealthy way across lots to his home woods. In these woods he 
spends his days, sleeping or prowling slyly about in quest of some 
foolish hare or grouse. 

It is doubtful if the fox resorts to his burrows much except in 
great stress of weather and during the breeding season, or when 
driven to earth by relentless pursuit. For the most part, he takes 
his hours of ease curled up on some knoll, rock, or stump, his dense 
fur defying northern blasts and the “nipping and eager air” of the 

6 


82 Frox-Hunting in New England. 


A HAPPY FAMILY. 


coldest winter night. Shelter from rain or snow-storms he undoubt- 
edly will take, for he is not overfond of being bedraggled, though it 
is certain he will sometimes take to the water and cross a stream 
without being driven to it. 

Reynard goes wooing in February, and travels far and wide in 
search of sweethearts, toying with every vixen he meets, but faithful 
to none, for his love is more fleeting than the tracks he leaves in the 
drifting snow. In April, the vixen having set her house in order by 
clearing it of rubbish, brings forth her young,—from three to six or 
more at a litter. This house is sometimes a burrow in sandy soil 
with several entrances ; sometimes a den in the rocks, and sometimes, 
in old woods, a hollow log. In four or five weeks the queer little 
pug-nosed cubs begin to play about the entrance. The mother hunts 
faithfully to provide them with food, and may sometimes be seen on her 
homeward way with a fringe of field-mice hanging from her mouth. 
About the entrance to the den may be seen the wings of domestic 
poultry, wild ducks, and grouse, and the legs of lambs,—the frag- 
ments of many a vulpine feast. 

It is a curious fact, and one | have never seen mentioned in print, 
that while the cubs are dependent on the mother, a hound will only 
follow her for a few minutes. Of the existence of this provision for 


fox-funting in New England. 33 


the safety of the young foxes I have had ocular proof, confirmed by 
the statements of persons whom I believe. In June, 1868, an old 
vixen was making sad havoc with one of my neighbors’ lambs, and 
an old fox-hunter was requested to take the field in their defense. 
He proceeded with his hounds (tolerably good ones) to the woods 
where her burrow was known to be, and put the dogs out. They 
soon started her and ran her out of the woods, but greatly to the 
surprise of the hunter they returned in a few moments, looking as 
shamefaced as whipped curs, with the old fox following them. Dis- 
gusted with the behavior of his own dogs, he sought the assistance 
of an old hound of celebrated qualities, belonging to a neighbor. 
She was put out with the other dogs, with just the same result. The 
vixen was at last shot, while she was chasing the hounds, who then 
turned upon her, biting and shaking her as is their wont when a 
fox is killed before them; but my friend, the hunter, told me they 
were as sick and distressed as ever dogs were after an encounter 
with a skunk. About the last of May, 1875, I witnessed a like 
incident. A stanch old hound of my own having accompanied me 
on a fishing excursion, started a fox in a piece of woods where a 
litter of young were known to be. Anxious to preserve the litter 
for sport in the fall, I hastened to call in the dog. I found him 
trotting along with lowered tail, the vixen leisurely trotting not more 
than five rods in advance, stopping every half minute to bark at 
him, when he would stop till she again went on. I called him in 
as easily as if he had been nosing for a mouse, though under ordi- 
nary circumstances it would have required a vigorous assertion of 
authority to have taken him off so hot a scent. 

If the life of the vixen is spared and she is not continually 
harassed by men or dogs during the breeding season, she will remain 
in the same locality for years, and rear litter after litter there ;_per- 
haps not always inhabiting the same burrow, but one somewhere 
within the same piece of woods or on the same hill. If she is much 
disturbed, or if she perceives that her burrow is discovered, she 
speedily removes her young to another retreat. The young foxes 
continue to haunt the woods where they were reared for some 
months after they have ceased to require the care of their mother, 
and then disperse. The habits above mentioned are common to the 
cross and silver foxes, as well as the red fox. 


34 Fox-Hunting in New England. 


a aes And now for the hunt. From his 

Wa nae helpless babyhood in leafless April, 
— Reynard has come, by the middle of 

\ the autumn, to months of discretion 
\ and to a large and increasing capacity 
| for taking care of himself. The weap- 
| ons are double-barrel shot-guns, of 
such weight and caliber as may suit 
the individual fancy. <A very light 
gun will not do the execution at the 
long range sometimes required, while 


on the other hand, a very heavy one will become burdensome in the 
long tramps that may be necessary ; for a man of ordinary strength, 
an 8-lb. gun will be found quite heavy enough. It should be of a 
caliber which will properly chamber its full charge of, at least, B B 
shot,—for I hold that the force of lighter shot will be broken by the 
thick fur of the fox; indeed, I would suggest still heavier pellets, say 
B B B, or even A. 

Our hounds, not so carefully bred as they should be, cannot be 
classed in any particular breed. They are more like the old South- 
ern fox-hound than like the modern English, and for our purpose 
are incomparably superior to the latter. They are not fleet, like him 
(fleetness here being objectionable, as will be shown), but of great 
endurance, and unsurpassable scenting powers,—for they will follow 
a fox through all his devious windings and endless devices, from 
dawn till dark, through the night and for another day. Our best 
dogs are well described by Shakspere in ‘‘ Midsummer Night's 
Dream ” 


“My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
So flew’d, so sanded; and their heads are hung 
With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
Crook-kneed, and dew-lapp’d like Thessalian bulls, 
Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells, 
Each under each.” 


Their colors are blue-mottled, with patches of black and tan or yel- 
low, with tan eye-patches; white, flecked with yellow, termed by 
old-time hunters “ punkin-an’-milk”; white and black and black and 
tan, with variations and admixtures of all these colors. It is an old 


ee 


Fox-FTlunting in New England. 85 


saying, “that a good horse can- 


a Aa 
not be of a bad color”; and the 


color of a hound is more a matter 
of fancy than of excellence. A 
loud and melodious voice is a 
most desirable quality, and this 
many of our native fox-dogs pos- 
sess in perfection. A hound with 
a weak voice is a constant worry, 
and one with a discordant voice 
vexes the ear. When the game is 


started the dog should 
tongue, so that you 


continually — give 
(and the fox as well) 
may always know just : woeremme ass ihe 
wrinkled brows and THE DOG'S DREAM. foreheads, and long 
pendent ears and flews of many of these dogs, give them an ex- 
tremely sad and troubled expression. Perhaps (who knows?) this 
solemn cast of visage comes of much pondering on the knavish 
tricks of the wily fox, and of schemes for circumventing his many 
artifices. Their tails are not at all inclined to be bushy, like those 
of the English fox-hounds of the present day, but are almost as 
slender and clean as the tail of the pointer. 


6A 


86 Fox-Hunting in New England. 


It is the early morning of one of the perfect days of late October or 
early November. In the soft gray light of the growing day, the herbage 
of the pastures and the aftermath of the meadows are pearly with frost 
which is thick and white on boards and fence-rails. The air is chill 
but — unstirred 


by the lightest 
breeze, and if 
the day keeps 
the promise of 
the morning it 
will be quite 
warm enough 
for comfortable 
tramping when 
the sun is fairly 
up. The hounds, 
called from their 
| straw, come 


yawning and 
limping — forth, 
stiff from the 
chase of yester- 
Hl day, butareelec- 
4 trified with new 
life by the sight 
Wy of =the guns. 
They career 
f about, sounding 


CALLING THE DOGS. 


Fox-Hunting tn New England. 87 


THE START. 


bugle-notes that wake the echoes for 
a mile around. Reynard at the wood- 
edge, homeward bound from his mousing or 
poultry stealing, is warned that this is to be | 
no holiday for him. Very likely the hounds are |’ 
too eager for the hunt to eat their morning 
Johnny-cake ; if so, let them have their way,— 
they will gobble it ravenously enough to-night, if they 
have the chance. 

And now, away! across the frosty fields toward yonder low hill, 
which we dignify with the name of mountain. No song-birds now 
welcome the coming day; almost the only sound which breaks the 
gray serenity is the clamor of a flock of crows in the distant woods, 
announcing their awakening to another day of southward journeying, 
or the challenge of a cock in a far-off farm-yard. As you hurry 
across the home pasture, the cows stop chewing the cud, to stare 
curiously at hounds and hunters, and then arise, sighing and stretch- 
ing, from their couches on the dry knolls. A flock of sheep start 
from their huddled repose and scurry away, halting at a little distance 
to snort and stamp at the rude disturbers of their early meditations. 
Almost the only signs of life are these, and the upward crawling 
smoke of kitchen chimneys, where sluggards are just making their 
first preparations for breakfast. Yours has been eaten this half hour. 
The old dog plods along, with serious and business-like air, dis- 
daining and repelling all attempts of his younger companion to 


88 Fox-Hunting in New England. 


beguile him into any unseemly gambols; but when you cross the 
fence which bounds the pasture lying along the foot of the hill, where 
the rank grass, mixed with last year’s growth, is ankle deep, and 
where grass and innumerable stumps and logs afford harbor for col- 
onies of field-mice, you find ‘there is life in the old dog yet.” He 
halts for an instant and snuffs the air; 

draws toward a tuft of grass and noses aS 
it carefully ; his sensitive nostrils dilate ; E 
his staid and sober tail begins, not to 


ON THE TRAIL. 


wag, but to describe circles; the 
serious lines of his brow become 
a frown; he mounts that log and 
snuffs it from end to end and back 
again with studious care. Now his 
loud, eager snuffing has grown to a suppressed challenge, and every 
muscle seems strained to its utmost tension, as he leaves the log and 
makes a few lopes toward the woods, stops for an instant as if turned 
to stone, raises his good gray muzzle skyward, and awakens all the 
woods and hills with his deep, sonorous voice! That way has Rey- 
nard gone, and that bugle-note has perhaps given him premonition 
of his doom. This note has recalled the young dog from his wild 
ranging, and he joins his older and wiser companion, without bring- 
ing much aid, however, for, catching the scent, he proclaims his 
discovery till long after he has overrun it, now and then slightly 
disconcerting the old truth-teller; but the veteran soon learns to 


Fox-Hunting in New England. 89 


ignore the youngster, and works 


his way steadily toward the 
wooded edge of the hill, never 
increasing his speed, nor abat- 
ing the carefulness of his 
scenting. Now his tuneful notes 
become more frequent. If you 
have the heart of a fox-hunter, 
they are the sweetest music to 
your ears in all the world. Up 
the steep side 


of the hill he 
takes his way, 
the young dog 


following, and 


THE RUN-WAY. 


both giving 
tongue from time 


slowly work the 


to time. They 
trail to the top 


of an overhang- ' ing ledge, and 
now there is a hush ; bu: almost before the echo of their last notes 
has died away, forth bursts a wild storm of canine music. Reynard is 
afoot, or, as we Yankees say, “the fox is started,” and the reeking 
scent of his recent footsteps steams hot in the nostrils of his pursuers. 
The hounds are now out of sight, but you hear every note of their 
jubilant song as they describe a small circle beyond the ledge, and 
then go northward along the crest of the hill. Their baying grows 
fainter and fainter as they bear away to the further side, till at last it 
is almost drowned by the gurgle of the brook. 

Now, get with all speed to “the Notch,” which divides the north 
from the south hill, for this the fox will pretty surely cross when 
he comes back, if back he comes, after making a turn or two or 
three at the north end. On this habit of his, of running in circles, 
and in certain run-ways as he goes from hill to hill, or from wood to 
wood, is founded our method of hunting him. If he“ plays” in small 
circles, encompassing an acre or so, as he often will for half an hour 
at a time before a slow dog, you cautiously work up to leeward of 
him and try your chances for a shot. If he encircles the whole hill, 
or crosses from hill to hill, there are certain points, which every fox, 


go Fox-Hunting in New England. 


IN NOVEMBER, 


whether stranger or to this particular woodland born, is /zkely to 
take in his way, but not sw7e to do so. Having learned these points 
by hearsay or experience, you take your post at the nearest or likeliest 
one, and between hope and fear await your opportunity. Such a 
place is this Notch, toward which with hasty steps and beating heart 
you take your way. When the fox returns, if he crosses to the south 
hill, he will come down that depression between the ledges which you 
face ; then cross the brook and come straight in front of you, toward 
the wood-road in which you stand, or else turn off to the right to cross 
the road and go up that easy slope to the south hill, or turn to the 
left and cross on the other hand. Standing midway between these 
points, either is a long gun-shot off, but it is the best place to post 
yourself; so here take breath and steady your nerves. 


fox-flunting in New England. gl 


How still the woods are!) The hounds are out of hearing a mile 
away. No breeze sighs through the pines or stirs the fallen leaves. 
The trickle of the brook, the penny-trumpet of a nut-hatch, the light 
hammering of a downy woodpecker are the only sounds the strained 
ear catches. All about rise the gray tree-trunks; overhead, against 
the blue-gray sky, is spread their net of branches, with here and there 
a tuft of russet and golden and scarlet leaves caught in its meshes. 
At your feet, on every side, lie the fading and faded leaves, but 
bearing still a hundred hues; and through them rise tufts of green 
fern, brown stems of infant trees and withered plants; frost-black- 
ened beech-drops, spikes of the dull azure berries of the blue cohosh, 
and milk-white ones, crimson-stemmed, of the white cohosh; scarlet 
clusters of wild turnip berries; pale asters and slender golden-rod, 
but all so harmoniously blended that no one object stands forth con- 
spicuously. So kindly does Nature screen her children, that in this 
pervading gray and russet, beast and bird, blossom and gaudy leaf, 
may lurk unnoticed almost at your feet. The rising sun begins to 
glorify the tree-tops. And now, a red squirrel startles you, rustling 
noisily through the leaves. He scrambles up a tree, and, with nervous 
twitches of feet and tail, snickers and scolds till you feel almost 
wicked enough to end his clatter with a charge of shot. A blue- 
jay has spied you and comes to upbraid you with his discordant 
voice. A party of chickadees draw nigh, flitting close about and 
pecking the lichened trunks and branches almost within arm’s-length, 
satisfying curiosity and hunger together. 

At last, above the voices of these garrulous visitors, your ear 
discerns the baying of the hounds, faint and far away, swelling, 
dying, swelling, but surely drawing nearer. Louder rings the 
“musical confusion of hounds and echo in conjunction,” as the dogs 
break over the hill-top. Now, eyes and ears, look and listen your 
sharpest. Bring the butt of your gun to your shoulder and be 
motionless and noiseless as death, for if at two gun-shots off Rey- 
nard sees even the movement of a hand or a turn of the head, he 
will put a tree-trunk between you and him, and vanish altogether 
and “leave you there lamenting.” 

Is that the patter of feet in the dry leaves, or did the sleeping 
air awake enough to stir them? Is that the fox? Pshaw! no— 
only a red squirrel scurrying along a fallen tree. Is that quick, 


g2 Fox-Hunting in New England. 


muffled thud the drum of a partridge? No, it never reaches the 
final roll of his performance. It is only the beating of your own 
heart. But now you hear the unmistakable nervous rustle of Rey- 


TO DESTROY THE SCENT. 


nard’s footsteps in the leaves; now bounding with long leaps, now 
picking his way; now unheard for an instant as he halts to listen. A 
yellow-red spot grows out of the russet leaves, and that is he, coming 
straight toward you. A gun-shot and a half away, he stops on a 
knoll and turns half-way round to listen for the dogs. In great sus- 
pense you wonder if he will come right on or sheer off and baffle you. 
But a louder sounding of the charge by his pursuers sends him 
onward right toward you. His face is a study as he gallops leisurely 
along, listening and plotting. He picks his way for a few yards along 
the outcropping stones in the bed of the brook, and then begins to 
climb the slope diagonally toward you. He is only fifty yards off 
when you raise the muzzle of your gun, drop your cheek to the stock, 
and aim a little forward of his nose; your finger presses the trigger, 
and while the loud report is rebounding from wood to hill, you peer 
anxiously through the hanging smoke to learn whether you have 
cause for joy or mortification. Ah! there he lies, done to death, 
despite his speed and cunning. The old dog follows his every foot- 
step to the spot where he lies, stops for a breath in a half surprise as 
he comes upon him, then seizes him by the back, shaking him savagely, 
and biting him from shoulders to hips. Let him mouth his fallen foe 
to his heart’s content, no matter how he rumples the sleek fur; it is 
his only recompense for the faithful service he has so well performed. 
And now the young dog comes up and claims his reward, and be 


fox-Hunting in New Fngland. 93 


ANOTHER STRATAGEM. 


sure this morning’s work will go far toward making him as stanch 
and true as his chase-worn leader. 

But think not thus early nor with such successful issue is every 
chase to close. This was ended before the fox had used any other 
trick for baffling the hounds, but his simplest one of running in circles. 
An hour or two later, and old fox, finding the dogs still holding per- 
sistently to all the windings of his trail, would have sped away to 
another hill or wood a mile or so off, and would have crossed newly- 
plowed fields, the fresh earth leaving no tell-tale scent; would have 
taken to traveled highways, where dust and the hoofs of horses and 
the footsteps of men combine to obliterate the traces of his passage ; 
or have trod gingerly along many lengths of the top rails of a fence 
and then have sprung off at right angles with it to the ground, ten 
feet away; and then, perhaps, have run through a flock of sheep, the 
strong odor of whose feet blots out the scent of his. These artifices 
quite bewilder and baffle the young dog, but only delay the elder, 
who knows of old the tricks of foxes. Nothing can be more 
admirable than the manner of his working, as he comes to the edge 
of the plowed field. He wastes no time in useless pottering 


94 fox-Hunting in New England. 


among the fresh-turned furrows, but with rapid lopes skirts their 
swarded border, till, at a far corner, his speed slackens as his keen 
nose catches the scent again in the damp grass; he snuffs at it an 
instant to assure himself, then sounds a loud, melodious note, and 
goes on baying at every lope till the road is reached. Along this he 
zigzags till he finds where the fox has left it. And now comes the 
puzzling bit of fence. The old dog thinks the fox has gone through 
it; he goes through it himself, but finds no scent there; puzzles 


about rapidly, now trying this 
side, now that; at last, he be- 
thinks himself of the top, to 
which he clambers and_ there 


finds the missing trail. But his 


big feet cannot tread the ‘‘ giddy 
footing” of the rail as could Rey- 
nard’s dainty pads, so down he 
goes and tries on either side for 
the point where the fox left the 
fence. Ranging up and down, 
too near it to hit the spot where 
Reynard struck the ground, he 
fails to recover the scent, stops, 
raises his nose, and utters a long, 
mournful howl, half vexaticn, 
half despair. Now he climbs to 
the top rail further on and snuffs 


it there. ‘No taint of a fox’s 


‘*HOLED.” 


Fox-Hunting in New England. 95 


foot is here,” so he reasons, “and he must have jumped from the 
fence between here and the place where I found it,” and acting on this 
logical conclusion, he circles widely till he has picked up the trail once 
more, and goes merrily on to the sheep pasture. Here satisfying him- 
self of the character of this trick, he adopts the same plan employed 
at the plowed field, and after a little finds the trail on the other side 
and follows it to the hill, but more slowly now, for the fox has been 
gone some time; the frost has melted, the moisture is exhaling, and 
the scent growing cold. The fox has long since reached the hill and 
half encircled it, and now hearing the voices of the hounds so far away 
and so slowly nearing, has bestowed himself on the mossy cushion 
of a knoll for rest and cogitation. Here he lies for a half hour or 
more, but always alert and listening, while the dogs draw slowly 
on, now almost losing the trail on a dry ledge, now catching it in 
a moist, propitious hollow, till at last a nearer burst warns poor sly- 
boots that he must again up and away. He may circle about or 
“play,” as we term it, on this hill, till you have reached a run-way 
on it where you may get a shot; or, when you have toiled painfully 
up the steep western pitch and have just reached the top, blown, leg- 
weary, but expectant, he will probably utterly disappoint and exas- 
perate you by leaving this hilland returning to the one he and you 
have so lately quitted,—yea, he will even intensify the bitterness of 
your heart by taking in his way one or two or three points where 
you were standing half an hour ago! What is to be done? He 
may run for hours, now on the hill where he was started, or he may 
be back here again before the hunter can have regained that. To 
hesitate may be to lose, may be to gain, the coveted shot. One must 
choose as soon as may be and take his chances. If two persons 
are hunting in company, one should keep to this hill, the other to 
that, or while on the same hill, or in the same wood, each to his chosen 
run-way, thus doubling the chances of a shot. 

At last, the hounds may be heard baying continuously in one 
place, and by this and their peculiar intonation, one may know 
that the fox, finding his tricks unavailing, has run to earth, or, as we 
have it, ‘has holed.” Guided to his retreat by the voices of the hounds, 
you find them there, by turns, baying angrily and impatiently and 
tearing away, tooth and nail, the obstructing roots and earth. If in 
a sandy or loamy bank, the fox may, with pick and spade, be dug 


ole) Fox-Hunting in New England. 


ignominiously forth, but this savors strongly of pot-hunting. If he 
has taken sanctuary in a rocky den, where pick and spade avail not, 
there is nothing for it but to call the dogs off and try for another fox 
to-day, or for this one to-morrow, when he shall have come forth 
again. This is the manlier part, in either case, for Reynard has 
fairly baffled you, has run his course and reached his goal in safety. 
Sometimes an old fox, when he hears the first note of the hounds 
on the trail he made when he was mousing under the paling stars, 
will arise from his bed, and make off at once over dry ledges, plowed 
fields and sheep pastures, leaving for the dogs nothing but a cold, 
puzzling scent, which, growing fainter as the day advances and the 
moisture exhales, they are obliged, unwillingly, to abandon at last, 
after hours of slow and painstaking work. A wise old hound will 
often, in such cases, give over trying to work up the uncertain trail, 
and guessing at the direction the fox has taken, push on, running 
mute, at the top of his speed, to the likeliest piece of woodland, a 
mile away perhaps, and there, with loud rejoicings, pick up the trail. 
When after a whole day’s chase, during which hope and disappoint- 
ment have often and rapidly succeeded each other in the hunter's 
breast, having followed the fox with untiring zeal through all the 
crooks and turns of his devious course, and unraveled with faultless 
nose and the sagacity born of thought and experience his every 
trick,—the good dogs bring him at the last moment of the gloaming 
within range, and by the shot, taken darkling, Reynard is tumbled 
dead among the brown leaves, great is the exultation of hunter and 
hound, and great the happiness that fills their hearts. After tramping 
since early morning over miles of the likeliest ‘ starting-places ” 
without finding any trail, but cold and scentless ones made in the 
early night, and so old that the dogs cannot work them out, as the 
hunter takes his way in the afternoon through some piece of wood- 
land, his hounds as discouraged as he, with drooping tails and 
increased sorrow in their sad faces, plodding, dejected at heel, or 
ranging languidly,—it is a happy surprise to have them halt, and 
with raised muzzles and half-closed eyes, snuff the air, then draw 
slowly up wind with elevated noses, till they are lost to sight behind 
gray trunks and mossy logs and withered brakes, and then, with a 
crashing flourish of trumpets, announce that at last a fox has been 
found, traced to his lair by a breeze-borne aroma so subtle that the 


Fox-Hunting in New England. 97 


BEARING HOME THE BRUSH. 


sense which detects it is a constant marvel. A fox started so late in 
the day seems loath to leave his wood, and is apt to play there till a 
shot gives to the hunter and hounds their reward. 

When one sees in the snow the intricate windings and crossings 
and recrossings of the trail of a mousing fox, he can but wonder 
how any dog by his nose alone can untangle such a knotted thread 
till it shall lead him to the place where the fox has laid up for the 
day; yet this a good hound will unerringly do, if the scent has not 
become too cold. -To see him do this, and to follow all his care- 
ful, sagacious work, are in nowise the least of the pleasures of this 
sport. 

It is a favorite season for fox-hunting when the first snows have 
fallen, for though the walking is not so good, and hounds are often 
much inclined to follow the track by sight as well as by smell, the tell- 
tale foot-prints show pretty plainly which way the fox has gone, how 


6 
/ 


98 Fox -Hunting in New England. 


long he has been gone, and whether it is worth your while to allow 
the dogs to follow his trail ; and you are enabled to help the hounds in 
puzzling places, though a dog of wisdom and experience seldom needs 


TANTALIZING THE DOGS, 


help, except for the saving of time. A calm day is always best, and 
if warm enough for the snow to pack without being at all ‘“ sposhy,” 
so much the better. Though it is difficult to “start” a fox during a 
heavy snow-fall, if you do start him, he is pretty certain to “ play” 
beautifully, seeming to reckon much on the obliteration of his track 
by the falling snow. At such times he will often circle an hour in the 
compass of two or three acres. Glare ice holds scent scarcely more 
than water. This, no one knows better than the fox, and you may 
be sure he will now profit by this knowledge if naked ice can be 
found. He will also run in the paths of the hare, pick his way care- 
fully along rocky ridges swept bare of snow by the wind, leaving no 
visible trace of his passage, and, at times, take to traveled highways. 
If the snow is deep and light so that he sinks into it, he will soon, 
through fatigue or fear of being caught, take refuge in den or 


fox -FHunting in New England. 99 


burrow. If the snow has a crust which bears him, but through 
which the heavier hounds break at every step, he laughs them to 
scorn as he trips leisurely along at a tantalizingly short distance 
before them. Hunting in such seasons is weary work, and more 
desirable then is the solace of book and pipe by the cozy fireside, 
where the hounds lie sleeping and dreaming of glorious days of 
sport, already past or soon to come. 

In winter as in autumn, the sport is invigorating and exciting, 
and Nature has now, as ever, her endless beauties and secrets for 
him who hath eyes to behold them. To such they are manifold in 
all seasons, and he is feasted full, whether from the bald hill-top he 
looks forth over a wide expanse of gorgeous woods and fields, still 
green under October skies, or sees them brown and sere through the 
dim November haze, or spread white and far with December snows. 
The truest sportsman is not a mere skillful butcher, who is quite unsat- 
isfied if he returns from the chase without blood upon his garments, but 
he who bears home from field and forest something better than game 
and peltry and the triumph of a slayer, and who counts the day not 
lost nor ill spent though he can show no trophy of his skill. The 
beautiful things seen, the ways of beasts and birds noted, are what 
he treasures far longer than the number of successful shots. 


A MEET AT NEWPORT. 


PepwkeALO HUNT IN NORPHERN MEXICO. 


By GEN. LEW. WALLACE, 


AUTHOR OF ‘' THE FAIR GOD," ‘‘BEN HUR,"” ETC. 


PArr ies Goine to) tae Elund 


NE traveling to the far city of Chihuahua by way of Monterey 
and Saltillo must cross what the Mexicans call El] Desierto, 
which is not to be understood as a region of shifting sand and 

mud-gray mountains, like the deserts of the Bedawee. It is only a 
rainless belt—rainless in the summer and fall and part of the winter. 
More fertile land, speaking of the land itself, is not on the globe. 
The results of irrigation by the sufficient water-courses are incredible 
to strangers, while the plateaus and long swales between mountains, 
and frequently the mountains clear to their crests, are covered with 
rank grasses which, grown in the brief season of rain, are peculiar in 
that they cure themselves in the standing stalk. Such are the fas- 
turas of Durango and Chihuahua, vast enough and rich enough to 
feed and fatten all the herds of whatever kind owned by men. 

The resting-places on the way to the desert are Parras, celebrated 
for its sweet red wines and the wonderful beauty of its site and sur- 
roundings; Alamos, most rural of Mexican towns, dominating the 
great Laguna district, once so coveted by the dead president of the 
Latter Day Saints; and Mapimi, whence, off the road right or left, 
lo, the dreaded wilderness ! ; 

The towns named are two and three days apart, with certain 
ranchos between them, but for which the wayfarer would be com- 
pelled to bivouac where the night found him, on the open plain or 

7A 


102 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


under some great rock, and I am not certain but the plain or the 
rock would furnish preferable lodging. The peon, however, to whom 
the sunburnt and perishing habitations have fallen, is of simple soul, 
full of easy content. He and Nature live close neighbors, and what 
with much borrowing from her, he has few needs ungratified, and no 
experience of better things to dog him with vain wishes. Of these 
places of torment—I speak as somewhat used to civilized ways— 
there rise vividly to mind Seguein, Bocarilla, Tierra Leon, and Salitre. 
Should my reader be of the class sometimes smitten with a longing 
for a home in a desert, let me recommend to him a day and night in 
Salitre. Besides the solitude of the waste place it is squatted in, the 
flavor of masca/, in constant distillation, hangs round it all the year. 
Superb specimen of a low-down rancho, nothing need be said of it as 
a hotel. 

But these midway stops are not all Bocarillas and Salitres. The 
hacienda of Patos was the residence of the administrator of the great 
Carlos Sanchez, who, in Maximilian’s day, was monarch of over seven 
thousand peons, settled on his estate of 8,131,242 acres. With such 
possessions it is not wonderful that Carlos was overcharmed by the 
prospect of an empire; and when he accepted the office of Grand 
Chamberlain to the short-lived emperor, it is not more strange that 
Juarez, the Lincoln of his country, followed him with a decree by 
which Patos became the property of the nation, subject to purchase. 
A more beautiful place will scarcely be found in Mexico. He who 
has seen the fatzo of the Casa Grande, and rested in the coolness of 
its broad colonnade, may not soon forget Patos, which he comes upon 
from the hill-country between Saltillo and Parras, an unexpected 
Paradise on a grim, purgatorial road. 

Then Hornos will not out of mind. First heard of at Alamos, it 
is finally overtaken at the end of a long day’s journey. Its externals 
are nothing,—four dead faces of cream-white stone, originally softer 
than the coquina of Florida,—no windows, one door with two mighty 
valves which look as if they might have once hung in the Joppa gates 
of Jerusalem. 

A hospitable Spaniard told me the story of the house. Sefior 
Don Leonardo Zuloaga was a European by birth and education. He 
owned a great estate on the edge of the unexplored Bolson, extend- 
ing quite to Alamos on the south. The fortune was ducal. There 


es a ee a. 


ON THE ROAD. 


was in his tastes a streak of savagery, and to indulge it he wandered 
out so far in the desert and built this fortalice. Then he brought 
pictures, books, wines, guns, dogs, horses; friends followed in swarms, 
his hospitality was semi-regal; when his guests palled of feasting, 
drinking, gambling, and hunting deer and wolves, not seldom he 
led them in long pursuit of the Comanche, or Lipan, or Apache, 
all quite as untamable as wolves. The Lagunieros were of his 
tenantry—fierce, idle, independent republicans, upon whom not even 
the French could make an impression, though they plied them with 
fire and sword. One day, they came up and demanded that he rent 
them certain lands upon their terms. He refused; war ensued, and 
regular battles. Zuloaga was driven off, and finally died of sheer 


104 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


mortification, a disease with all over-proud souls. Gonzales Herrera, 
4 brutal ranchero, assumed the estate by right of conquest, and sup- 
planted the unquestioning hospitality of the proprietor with an out- 


JUAN. 


lawry strong enough to defy the state, backed by the national 
government. 

To the door of this sadly haunted dwelling in the wilderness we 
drove, the evening of an October day in the year 1867. The party 
consisted of Colonel C , an American; Mr. Roth, a German; 
myself, and three #ozos,—that is to say, three native Mexicans, chat- 
tels of his excellency Don Andreas Viesca, governor of the State of 
Coahuila—brave men, true, honest, affectionate, at home on the 
highways of the desert, and brimful of experience derived from life- 
long pilotage to and fro on all the beaten marches of Northern 
Mexico. Juan, Teodora, and Santos,—only their baptismals are 
given, as in the sister republic nobody troubles about the surname of 
a peon. Of the trio, the first was our coachman, and the second our 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 105 


SANTOS. 


rear guard; while the third went always before to spy out the land 
for which he had eyes of the far reach of an eagle’s, good for the 
unusual in any form,—dust in the valley, smoke on the mountain, or 
what not. This half-military order of travel, be it remarked, was not 
affected by the party as a choice or an eccentricity; it was merely a 
precaution against the enterprise of ladrones in general, and just then 
a necessity, as the journey carried across the line of a raid for scalps 
and plunder, in vigorous execution by a band of Apaches from the 
region of the Conchas river, of whom more anon. 

To the very door we drove without seeing a soul. I pleased 
myself thinking how different in the day of the romantic Don Leon- 
ardo. Then swarthy retainers held the portal in swarms, and, seeing 
us afar, they would have run to meet us, the effusion of their welcome 
being but notice in advance of the politer reception in store for us by 


106 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


the generous master himself. Then the great house, so tomb-like in 
its present silence, would have been noisy as a populous khan in an 
Orient desert. As it was, we halted outside, while Santos rode in 


THE ‘‘MOZO.” 


through the half-opened entrance unchallenged, unsaluted. We heard 
the hoofs of his horse ring the echoes of the arched, but dirty, pas- 
sage to the patio. Was there no warder—no steward? Did the 
castle keep itself? Our ozo at length appeared with answer—a 
sleepy-looking wretch in jacket and breeches of rusty leather, under 
a great sombrero of the genuine old style, and withal a swagger so 
easy-going, yet so perfect as an emphasized insolence, that only the 
pencil can do it justice. 

The man announced himself master of the house, and gave us 
permission to pass the night within. We would have to find our 
own beds; his only contribution to our supper would be a mess of 
warm /rzjoles; he had fodder for our cattle. Ay de mz, Zuloaga! 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 107 


IN THE REAR COURT. 


To be sure, there was no barbican defending the entrance, nor 
portcullis a-swing on creaking chains, nor overshadowed grass-grown 
ditch ; yet, as we rolled in, I thought of Branksome tower ; of the 
stag-hounds, weary of the chase, and asleep upon a rushy floor; of 
the kinsmen of the bold Buccleuch—the nine and twenty knights of 
fame, of whom the matchless master sang: 


“They carved at the meal 
With gloves of steel, 
And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr’d.” 


A very martial vision, by the troth of a paladin! But instead, some 
nomadic children of the desert, going, they knew not where nor for 
what, were in full possession of the patio, resting happily from their 
travel of the day. 

We alighted from the -carriage in a square court-yard,—faézo, in 
the Spanish,— paved and quite spacious. On the four sides door- 
ways without doors yawned darkly at us. The purposes the cham- 
bers served in the golden time I knew not; when we found them 
they were stables ; out of some, the long-horned cattle of the nomads 
looked, bellowing for food; into others, our mules were taken. 


108 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


THE SCHOOL OF THE LARIAT. 


“There is plenty of room; take your choice,” he of the mild manner 
said, when we spoke of disposing of ourselves for the night. We set 
out forthwith to find the cleanest and best aired unoccupied room. 

Through another arched passage, into another square court; 
and company, nice-looking people, who actually arose and touched 
their hats to us, though at the moment of our appearance they 
were laughing with great gusto. Two children—brown-skinned, 
naked little fellows—had opened a school of the lariat, for 
the entertainment of the strangers. Gaunt goats, exceedingly tall 
and strong, served them as steeds; a gander answered for game. 
They rode with the skill of monkeys and the grace of cupids. The 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 109 


“UNDER THE COLONNADE.” 


victim fled, hissing and cackling, on wings of fear. When at length 
the loop hitched around his neck, the exhibition was at an end, and, 
paying our contribution, we went our way. Next day, we found the 
polite gentry were travelers like ourselves, only they were going to 
Parras from Parral, their place of residence. 

On into the heart of the castle, another passage and another 
court,—this latter marked by lingering remains of magnificence,— 
in the center a ruined fountain, and on all sides a continuous colon- 
nade with fluted pillars and chiseled capitals. There were reminders 
also of a garden, such as sunken beds thinly garnished with flower- 
less shrubs, and old rose-trees sickly and untended, and other trees, 
amongst which I recognized a languishing orange and some stunted 
figs. Half a dozen bananas, their leaves unfurled broad and bright 
as new banners, arose out of the basin of the fountain in undiminished 
vigor, relieving the desolation of the place, and filling it with the 
glory of flame. Here, before the fatal heart-break struck him, Zulo- 
aga and his guests tasted their much pleasance. Under the colon- 
nade yonder it was easy to imagine the hammocks yet swinging, 


110 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


SSS 


IN THE CORRIDOR. 


while the gentlefolk smoked, read, or dozed about them; meanwhile, 
the largesse of flowers and the cantata of falling waters. There, at 
the basin, by a table, in the shade of the flaring bananas, the prodi- 
gal master used to stand laughing, as, dice-box in hand and high 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. Diet 


overhead, he rattled the white tessare careless of fortune, so soon 
and so utterly to turn against him. From that room, marked by 
the carven door, music flowed stream-like out into the moonlit 
court, voices of women leading, beautiful women taught by the 
maestros of Durango, may be by the maestros of the capitai. Well, 
into that room we went—in honor of the shade of the departed, | 
took off my hat; there, too, were traces of the glory’s time—tessel- 
lated floor, frescoed ceiling, on the walls frame-marks of pictures and 


THE PATIO. 


mirrors. Ay de mz, Zuloaga! Evil the hour War came in grim- 
visaged and cruel, and dispersed the waltzers, the singers, and the 
smokers, and, of all the dainty furniture, left us but one long table 
on which to spread our pallets in rest of our weary bones. Needless 
to say, we adopted the table; it was hard, but it lifted us above the 
range of fleas, and then—ah, if the gallant Spaniard should wake 
from his sleep and come to us in dreams! Vzva / 

We returned then to the first patio in search of our 7020s, 
and were greatly astonished there. The house, apparently so 
deserted, had in our absence given up an unexpected tenantry ; 
men, women, and children—so many! where did they all come 
from ?—were crowded around a delicate-looking shepherd lad 


112 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


who sat on a tough little jenny telling a story, to which we also 
gave instant ear. 

About noon, he said, while with his flock in the desert, he had 
seen away across the fastwrva a black mass come slowly toward him, 
spreading as itcame. Indians it was not; he rode toward it, and— 
Madre de Dios / it was a herd of buffaloes. And thereupon every 
one in the patio listening took fire, and cried Madre de Dios! One of 
the gentlemen bound down the road to Parras, cooler than the rest, 
pushed through the excited throng and put to the lad a series of 
questions. 

‘“ Buffaloes, did you say?” 

Wes, Sili” 

‘“‘ How far out were they ?” 

‘From here?” 

“ Ves,” . 

‘About three leagues.” 

“Tn what direction were they moving?” 

“ From the sun.” 

The lad meant to say northward. 

‘Was it a big herd?” 

“Very big, sir. I could not count them.” 

‘A thousand ?” 

“Oh, many more, sir.” 

We were satisfied, my friends and I, and walked away, leaving 
the patio all calcitrant with excitement. Soon the strangers followed 
us. One of them introduced himself as Don Miguel de (the 
last of the name has slipped my memory), a merchant of Santa 
Rosalia, going to Parras for a supply of #zazta—coarse cotton stuff. 

‘“We have about concluded,” he said, ‘to lie over to-morrow and 
go hunting. It has been many years since buffalo came so far south; 


in fact, we cannot any of us remember to have heard of such a visi- 
tation in these parts. The opportunity is too rare and good to be 
lost. Will you go with us, gentlemen? We shall be delighted with 
your company.” 

My friend, the colonel, had been a soldier from beginning to end 
of the great war, and earned his title; now, ez passané, his name is a 
familiar one in Brazil and in the far up-country Bolivia, whose land- 
lock he is about to break. They know him, too, in the tight little 


A Buffalo Hunt tn Northern Mexico. 113 


THE START. 


isle where to be known argues a merit out of the common. His spirit 
arose at the suggestion of the courteous Mexican; he spoke to me, then 
replied that nothing would make us happier, only we had no horses. 

Don Miguel smiled. 

“You cannot have been long in these parts,” he said. ‘“ Horses 
here are to be had for the asking. We will see you supplied.” 

The offer was accepted, and the party was to start at five o'clock 
next morning, under guidance of the shepherd. 


Prise IU, Wisi, eligi. 


We did not get started till day, though we breakfasted by 
candle-light. The sally from the patio in which, midst the confu- 
sion and the seethe and boil of several tempests in an unclean tea- 

8 


114 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


A GROUP OF VAQUEROS. 


pot, the final preparations were made was like a charge of untrained 
cavalry; nor might one have said which were most excited, the 
horses or the men. For a mile-or more, after the exit, there was 
furious racing through a dense cloud of dust. When at last we 
drew together and halted to let the guide front, we found the party, 
about twenty in number, all Mexicans but the colonel and myself. 
Mr. Roth had declined the sport. 

‘‘Who are these people ?” I asked. 

Don Miguel glanced over the motley crowd. 

“‘ Quien sabe, senor?” (‘Who knows, sir ?”’) 

I called Santos and asked him the question. The good fellow 
immediately rode here and there amongst them, and returned with 
this answer : 

“Fay rancheros—todos.” (‘They are all rancheros.”) 

A ranchero is an independent son of the Mexican soil, generally 
a renter of lands, always owner of a horse, on which he may be said 
to live and have his being. To-day a cattle-herder (vaguero ), to- 
morrow a soldier, this week a gambler, next week a robber: with 
all his sins, and they are as his hairs in number, he has one supreme 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 115 


excellence—you may not match him the world over as a rider, not 
though you set against him the most peerless of the turbaned knights 
of the jeveed. Once it was my fortune to see a thousand vancheros, 
in holiday garb and mounted, sweep down at a run to meet President 
Juarez, then ex route to begin his final campaign against the hapless 
Hapsburger. They literally glistened with silver—silver on saddle 
and bridle, silver on jacket and trowsers, silver on hats, silver on 
heels ; and, as with vzvas long and shrilly intoned, and stabs of rowel 
merciless and maddening, they drove their mustangs—the choicest 
of the wild herds—headlong forward, the spectacle was stirring 
enough to have made the oldest hetman of the Cossacks young 
again. No wonder Kleber never ceased admiration of the Mame- 
lukes who charged his squares over the yellow sands under the Pyra- 
mids. These, my compfaneros of the hunt, were not in holiday attire. 
Their clothes were plain tan-colored leather, yet they rode like the 
thousand, and when I looked in their faces there was no mistaking 
the tribal relation. The vancheros of the desert of Durango are 
lineally akin to the vancheros of Tamaulipas and their brothers of 
Sonora. 

My friend and I were well mounted,—Don Miguel had dealt 
fairly by us,—yet we could not ride like the Mexicans. Their system 
is essentially different from ours; whereas we use the rein for every 
movement of the horse,—forward, right, left, backward, check,— 
they will ride all day keeping it loose over the little finger; a press- 
ure of the knee, an inclination of the body, a wave of the bridle hand, 
in extreme cases a plunge of the spur, are their resorts. A pull on 
one of their bits, one pull such as our jockeys are accustomed to at 
the end of a race, would drive the beasts mad, if it did not make fine 
splinters of their jaws. 

In connection with the excellences of my comrades, it may be 
well to add that their arms were of every variety, from a Sharpe’s 
repeater to an escofeta, some of the latter being identical with the 
bell-mouthed blunderbusses of good Queen Bess. I noticed one 
which had on it a stamp of the Tower; it was smit with a devouring 
leprosy of rust, and looked as if Raleigh or one of the later bucca- 
neers had taken it from the old arsenal and dropped it overboard, 
as he sailed and sailed. Verily, | had rather been a buffalo fired at 
with such a piece, than the hunter at the other end to do the firing. 


116 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


We moved rapidly along a plain road; after a league or more, 
the road faded into a dim path; another league, and we were in the 
mid-desert. Moved by the novelty of the situation, I let the party 
pass me, that I might be alone. 

Mira! A world of grass, each blade brown or yellowing on the 
stalk, not dying so much as curing itself—just far enough gone to 
rustle at the touches of the winnowing winds; a world of grass with- 
out a flower, nor even a wee anemone. The trees are few in number 
and variety. Off yonder is a solitary cabbage-palm, tall, shaggy, 
crowned with a shock of green bayonets; it stands motionless, the 
image of a listening watchman. Here and there groves thinly fleck 
the broad brown face on which they endure, in the distance wear- 
ing the air of neglected apple-orchards. They are mesquite trees, 
for which I confess partiality, not for their beauty, but for their 
courage. The idea and the word, as applied, may startle the reader ; 
yet I sometimes please myself thinking that in the kingdom of plants 
there is a degree of the royal quality. The lichen, up in the realm 
of the reindeer, and the willow, which survives long burial by the 
snows everlastingly whitening the echoless shores of Lincoln Sea, 
must be braver than the palm on the Nile or the redwood on the 
Amazon. So with the mesquite of the desert. Ah, here is one of 
them close by,—knotted, gnarled, dwarfed, brittle, black of bark, 
vaster of root than top, yet with a certain grace derived from its 
small, emerald green leaves, so delicately set on trembling fronds. 
I have only to look at it once to recognize a hero, not of many 
tilts with storms, but of an endless battle with drought and burning 
sun, living sometimes years on nothing but faintest dews. Is it 
wonderful that it grew branching from the ground so low as to be 
trunkless? Or that its limbs separated in the beginning, and did 
their feeble climbing wider and wider apart each day of life, as hate- 
ful of each other and the humble stem which generated them? Or 
that at last, when full grown, yet comparatively a shrub of low 
degree, thin and wan of foliage, its shade ill suffices to cool the 
gophers nestling down deep amongst its sprawling roots, or the 
crickets, panting as they sing in the gray mosses of uncertain life, 
stitched like prickly patches on its weather side ? 

Nevertheless, the tree was disposed to serve me. As I looked at 
it, thinking of its struggle for life, I was conscious of a warning,— 
what if I should get lost ? 


—— 


8A 


HEAD OF AMERICAN BUFFALO (BISON AMERICANUS). 


DRAWN BY JAMES C. BEARD. 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 119 


I glanced at the sun, that first compass of the first hunters, and 
rose in my stirrups essaying to single out the direction to the house 
of Zuloaga. To point the locality of the Spaniard’s Fountain of 
Youth had been as easy. Oh, you say, the path of coming was 
plain! Yes, but—as I found before the day was done—that path 
was one of millions winding in and out, never a skein of silk so hope- 
lessly tangled, in and out as impossible of straightening by a novice 
like me as some sad lives we all have known; paths worn by wolves 
galloping in howling packs through the South moonlight; deer 
paths; and paths known only to the unlovely red children of Uncle 


) 


THE TANGLE OF PATHS. 


a.— House of Zuloaga. 4.— Estanque. 


Sam, who perennially tear down that way for scalps of women and 
children and the loot of undefended ranchos; paths now along the 
prairie, now through the chaparral, devious and past following and 
past finding when once lost as the flight of swallows. Oh, if I did 
know the right oze amongst the multiplied zigzag many, and could 
keep it in shade and shine—keep it truly against the tempting 
promises of this and that other so friendly and familiar-looking, then 
doubtless I could make the house. Not caring to make the trial, or 
to be put to the necessity of making it, I snatched the rein and gave 
spur to my willing horse. 

The gallop was over a great fastura, one of the sheep-ranges of 
our little guide. I did not like the life of the lad,—following the 
flock as he does day after day, without other companionship except of 
his dog and donkey, must be lonesome,—yet it is not altogether 
void of charm. The glories of the enchanter Distance are about 
him everywhere. If from grasses crinkling under foot, and dwarfed 


120 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


A MAGUEY FIELD. 


trees scarce vigorous enough to cover their nakedness with the sug- 
gestion of foliage, he gazes off over them all, who ever saw a horizon 
with a span so very, very wide? If he looks higher to the sky, nay into 
it, how the blue inverted bowl widens and deepens as the clear eye 
shears on, on, through depths to other depths immeasurable! And 
looking, lo! out of them, by some deft magic,—out of the remove of 
horizon or the added depths of sky, illusions most likely of atmos- 
phere absolutely purified, or out of them all, it may be,—the En- 
chanter evolves for me all the effects of space. Did it the same for 
him? And did he feel them as I did? 

We came at length to a body of water, in the Mexican, an es¢angue ; 
in English, a pond. Off a little way a herd of sheep and goats, 


A Buffalo Hunt tn Northern Mexico. [21 


thousands in number, having slaked their thirst, were wending 
slowly to fresh feeding-grounds. A man, joint keeper with our 
guide, sat by the shore preparing his humble breakfast. Then | 
knew how the pond made life possible out so far in the afflicted 
land. The radius of the migration of herd and herdsmen might be 
wide enough to take in the mountain showing off to our right, like a 
dab of purple pigment. Whatever its boundary, however, this was 
its center —this rippling sheet, clear and bright enough to live in my 
memory another Diamond of the Desert. 

While the horses drank, and some of the more careful xazchervos 
refilled the water-gourds they habitually carried at their saddle-bows, 
Don Miguel and the colonel interviewed the herdsmen, whose re- 
plies were very satisfactory. Our game had spent the night in the 
vicinity; the water the other side of the pond was muddy with their 
wading; he had even made fires to drive them away, and they left 
about sunup, going toward the mountains. 

“You see the trees yonder?” he said; “well, two bulls were 
there not an hour ago, fighting; they may be there now. QOzzex 
sabe, senores?” 

“Tt is but a minute’s ride—shall we.go?” said Don Miguel to 
the colonel. The latter called to me; next moment we were off, 
leaving the party to follow as they severally made ready. 

I remember yet the excitement of that ride, the eagerness and 
expectancy with which we neared the knot of trees, our dash through, 
pistol in hand. In quiet hours | hear the shout with which the 
colonel brought us together. In an opening scarce twenty yards 
square lay a dying bull. He was of prodigious girth, and covered 
head and shoulders with a coat of sunburnt hair to shame a lion. 
Long, tangled locks, matted with mud and burs, swathed his forelegs 
down to the hoofs. The ponderous head of the brute rested help- 
lessly upon the rotting trunk of a palm-tree; the tongue hung from 
his bloody lips; his eyes were dim, and his breath came and went in 
mighty gasps. The death-wound was in his flank, a horrible sick- 
ening rent. The earth all about bore witness to the fury of the duel. 
Long time he confronted his foe, and held him with locked horns; at 
last, he slipped his guard—that broad forehead with its crown of 
Jove-like curls —and was lost. Who could doubt that the victor 
was worth pursuit ? 


122 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


We helped the unfortunate to a speedier death, and lingered to 
observe him. His travels had been far, beginning doubtless up 


“Tn the land of the Dakotah,” 


whence winter drove him with all his herd down the murky Missouri. 
On the Platte somewhere he passed the second summer; then, from 
the hunting of the Sioux and their fierce kinsmen, he escaped into 
Colorado; after a year of rest, in search of better pastures, he pushed 
southward again, lingering in the fields about the head-waters of 
the Arkansas; there the bold riders of the Comanche found him; 
breaking from them, he disappeared for a time in the bleak wilder- 
ness called The Staked Plains; thence to the Rio Grande, and across 
into Chihuahua, the pursuer still at his heels; and now there was an 
end of travel and persecution. As we returned from the chase, I saw 
him again, lying where we found him, a banquet for the whimpering 
wolves. Already he was despoiled of his tongue. 

The incident, as may be thought, whetted the ardor of the party 
to the sharpest edge. A wide interval stretched between us and the 
mountain toward which the game had disappeared; in some of the 
long swales ahead we knew they were feeding; possibly we might 
strike them before noon; nobody felt tired. Santos rode forward at 
a canter; we followed in a body, saying little, but never so observ- 
ant. Two more miles were put behind. Suddenly, as the ozo was 
making the ascent of a long up-grade, he stopped, and, turning in 
his saddle and pointing forward, shouted: ‘ Ola, los bufalos /” 

Not a man but felt a great heart-beat and a thrill which shocked 
him from head to foot. As at command, we raised the guns, lying 
across the saddles before us. As at command, too, we all broke into 
a gallop. Santos, like a sensible fellow, came back to meet us. 

‘“Where are they?” everybody asked in a breath. 

‘Just over the hill,” he answered, suppressing his excitement. 

‘Are there many of them?” I asked. 

‘“ Caramba, senor / Ne cannot kill them all before night.” 

We gained the top of the grade, and there they were—not a 
quarter of a mile away, grazing slowly onward—/os demonios del 
Norte. 

To the left, under a well-grown tree, I caught sight of one, 
solemn, sedate, magnificent in proportion, magnificently draped in 


OUR FIRST VIEW OF THE HERD. 


flying fur. He alone kept his place motionless and with full front 
toward us, the perfect picture of confidence, self-collection, and power 
of toughened thews in wakeful repose. In every flock of living things 
there is a sentinel who watches, a philosopher who thinks, a law- 
maker who ordains, a king who governs; and there they were all in 
one—and more, he was the victor of the morning’s duel. I knew it 
all with the certainty of intuition. 

The exceeding peacefulness of the scene was not lost on me, and 
the monitor of the low voice did some whispering ; but—my blood 
was running races. The heart was beating in my throat, and the hot 
parch of the hunter’s fever was on my tongue. Pity there is no 
gauge for the measurement of a man’s excitement of spirit ; some- 
thing of the kind should be our next great gift from the wiseacres ; 
and then, if the invention should happily be simple of reference and 
easy of portage like a pencil or a knife, we could have with us always 
a doctor to save us from apoplexies, and a guardian to say stop at 
that point in our pleasures where conscience is in the habit of obtrud- 
ing, like the ghost at the banquet. 

We had no thought of strategy—scattering, flanking, heading 
off had no places in our heads, and without an inquiry from us the 
wind continued to blow as it listed. A common impulse seized 
every man and communicated to every horse. A shout, some fierce 
gouging with rowels, and away we dashed pell-mell, guns in hand, 


124 A Buffalo Hunt tn Northern Mexico. 


Don Miguel in the lead. The startled herd, executing a volt to the 
rear, stood a moment at bay. The king under the tree shook his 
crowned head, and viewed us askance. Ha! ha! was he scared? 
Or, like a veteran general, was he coolly counting the odds before 
resolving on battle? If, at a signal, his army had closed ex masse 
and charged us horns down, what a hurry-scurrying rearward there 
would have been on our part! But no—he had heard the whoop of 
assault before, and knew all its significance. The pause was from 
curiosity, as natural to his kind as to a high-bred lady. We heard 
his bellow, ragged as the mot of a Mexican trumpet; then he went 
right-about; whereat there was a general stampede—a blind sauve 
gui peut, which, interpreted literally, means, may the devil take the 
hindmost. Away they went, all alike, the king forgetful of his 
dignity, and all the queens for once at least self-dependent. 

Now, if the reader will resolve a buffalo into a machine and make 
study of his locomotive capacities, it will be seen he was not made 
for speed. He is too weak in the hind-quarters, too ponderous in 
the fore; and as if the fatted hump on his shoulder were not a suffi- 
cient handicap of the poor brute, Nature fashioned his head after the 
model of a pork-barrel, and hung it so low as to be directly in the 
way of his forefeet—the very reverse of a horse or a deer. A /or- 
tiord, as the lawyers are so fond of saying, he does not leap when in 
flight, but rolls and plunges, like a porpoise at play. In short, there 
would have been shame everlasting in the house of Zuloaga if our 
mustangs, outfliers of the desert winds, had failed to overtake the 
lumbering fugitives in less than a half mile. 

I do not know what my companions did—a quick concentrating 
of self seized me, insomuch that I became to the world else the 
merest husk of a purpose; the circumstances of the charge, those 
the eye catches and those the ear hears, looks, actions, words, yell ; 
even the stirring rataplan of the horses’ drumming hoofs and the 
deep bass earth-rumble of the game in multitudinous flight — all 
failed my perception; for as we drew near the chase one straggler 
claimed my attention —a heifer, clean built and clean of hide. She 
was running freely, and could have made better speed but for the 
slower hulks in her way. I had a thought that she might make 
better meat than the bigger specimens, and yet another, she might 
be more easily killed; and to kill her I bent every faculty. 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 125 


NOW, FIRE! 


The mustang caught the spur; forward—close—closer—by 
bending in the saddle I could have laid hand on my prey; then, 
fully conscious that she was singled out, how she struggled to get 
away! How the muscles of her flanks swelled and knotted in des- 
perate exertion! The time came to use my Winchester. I selected 
the place to shoot at, just behind the shoulder, and brought the 
rifle down. Goodness! - I was left of the game, when, being right- 
handed, I should have gone to the right. Three times I tried to get 
aim, but in vain. I laid the gun across the saddle, and drew my 
pistol—a Smith & Wesson, the best of revolvers then, yet not near 
so good as now; for that I was in place. Forward again, and closer 
in—closer—now, fire! The bullet lodged in the shoulder. Again, 
and in the heart; hurrah! My horse shied; the rifle fell to the 
ground; I barely escaped tumbling after; the victim moaned, stag- 
gered, stumbled, fell. Aye, count me ove, and, better yet, count me 
the FIRST ONE ! 


126 A Buffalo Hunt tn Northern Mexico. 


Upon coming to,—observe all the words imply,—I was dis- 
mounted, and in the act of picking up my gun. The conduct of man 
was never more purely instinctive than mine had been throughout. 
I make the confession without shame, for ] am not of those who 
believe thought must govern and direct what all we do, other- 
wise there is no credit. In cases of peril bullet-swift, to wait on 
reflection is to die. Instinct moves us; we obey, and live. Thought 
implies conditions, and a final judgment upon them; instinct implies 
instant action—something dull men are incapable of. 

Let me pass the pride and happiness of that triumphant moment. 
The fisherman who has landed the traditional trout of a famous 
brook, or a ten-pound golden salmon from the golden beds of the 
Kankakee, can tell you my feelings; and to enable a hunter to inter- 
pret for me, it is only required that he should have bagged a wild 
goose, flying full-quilled from the Arctics. 

The mustang was at last reduced to quiet; then I looked about. 
The huntsmen and the herd were out of sight in a trough of the 
land ahead; yells and frequent shots signaled their whereabouts. 
Not another carcass was to be seen; I had made the first capture ; 
what if it should be the only one? While so thinking,—the faintest 
semblance of a selfish wish lurking under the reflection,—suddenly 
the noise ceased. Strange! Something had certainly occurred. I 
swung into the saddle; then up from the hollow rode a ranchero, 
coming to speak to me, I supposed; he went by like a ricochetting 
shot. Others appeared; the same haste possessed them, only they 
shouted: ‘“Preesa, sewor! Los Indios, los Indios!”  (‘« Make haste, 
sir! Indians, Indians! ”) 

Ah, the cursed Apaches ! 

The interruption was not an agreeable one; in fact, the effect 
was decidedly chilling ; yet | managed to control myself, and ride 
forward. The last of the zazcheros passed in flight; only the colonel, 
Don Miguel, his friends, and Santos and Teodora, remained. 

“What's up now?” 

The colonel answered coolly: 

“The fellows say they came upon Indians in the grass down 
yonder. I think they are lying.” 

Don Miguel shrugged his shoulders nearly to the top of his head, 
and fairly hissed: 


A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 127 


“Jt is nothing, sir,” with an expression of contempt without an 
equivalent in English. 

Santos touched his hat, indicating a wish to speak. 

“What is it?” I asked him. 

“There are no Indians there.” 

DINO!” 

“T stopped one of the men long enough to have him show me 
” he laughed heartily. 


where the ambush was, and 

“Well 2?” I said, impatiently. 

“And the buffaloes had run right over the place.” 

We looked at each other curiously. Don Miguel suggested we 
go see for ourselves, and the colonel supported him with a round 
declaration that they had taken eight or ten good fat cows, and he 
didn’t like to run away from them to accommodate anybody, much 
less a thieving Apache. A reconnoissance was determined upon. 

We rode into the hollow and up it, cautiously following the trail 
of the herd. 

“Hist!” cried Santos, a little in advance. ‘‘ Look there!” 

We looked, and were startled. Not twenty yards away stood a 
sorrel pony rudely housed in Indian style. At sight of us it raised 
its head and whinnied piteously. Santos went to it, and stooped to 
catch the lariat about its neck. 

“ Fesu Christo/” he yelled as if shot. I thought he would roll 
out of his saddle. 

“For love of God, gentlemen, come and see,” he next exclaimed. 

We stood not upon the order of going. 

“Caramba/” said Don Miguel, reining back. 

Then the colonel blew a long whistle of disgust, as well he might. 
An Indian warrior was lying face downward in the grass at the fore- 
feet of the pony—dead/ The stampede of the vancheros was 
explained. 

A worn knife, butcher’s pattern; a hatchet, such as_ plasterers 
use ; a redwood bow, short but broad, and variously painted on the 
back ; a quiver of arrows; a lance, of the Mexican sort; a dirty 
clay-pipe, in a dirty bag of raw tobacco—were the assets of the dead 
man. 

In the division of spoils, my friend the colonel took two feathers 
found in the scalp-lock, indicative, as he was pleased to believe, of 


128 A Buffalo Hunt in Northern Mexico. 


the high rank of the deceased. A pair of moccasins, taken from the 
saddle, fell to me; they were unworn, and soft as a castor glove. I 
have them yet, and keep them because they were beaded by the 
warrior’s love, the daughter of an arrow-maker who lives ina painted 
tepee off over the Sierras, by the loud-singing, but lonely, Gila. A 
visitor now and then comes and casts a doubt upon the tale of the 
moccasins; but he always leaves me in disfavor. 

We agreed to attribute the end of the savage to ugliness, compli- 
cated with original sin. When the shepherds were told about him, 
they turned pale and crossed themselves. They knew why he was 
in wait where death found him, mercifully for them. 

It remains to say the discovery finished the hunt. 

The Indian’s pony, seven superb buffalo hides, and any amount 
of meat, were our trophies. The bivouac by the estaxgue that night 
was savory with the smell of roasting joints, and next day, when we 
bade adieu to Don Miguel and his friends at the door of the house 
of Zuloaga, all the patios were beautiful with festoonery, which, at the 
end of a week, was taken down, weighed, and divided. No one ever 
tasted better carne seca. 


TENOR PH AME RICAN? CERVIDZ:. 


GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, Pu. D. 


HE deer family includes the most important of our large game 

animals. Deer, of one species or another, are found through- 

out the whole of North America, from within the Arctic circle 
south to Mexico. They are most numerous in the northern United 
States, where the Arctic forms and those inhabiting more temperate 
regions overlap, and here two of the most magnificent represen- 
tatives of the family—the moose and the elk 
value of the deer to the aborigines of this continent ¢an scarcely be 
over-estimated, In many sections of country, the natives formerly 
depended for animal food almost wholly upon the deer at certain 
seasons; and at the present day the Esquimaux rely, for several 


are found. The 


months of the year, entirely upon the reindeer for subsistence. Until 
some time after the settlement of this country by the whites, the 
clothing of the natives was manufactured chiefly from deer-skins. 
Shirts, leggings, and moccasins were and are made from the dressed 
skins of the red, the mule, and the black-tail deer; while the coarser 
and heavier hides of the moose and elk were used for covering lodges, 
for robes and blankets, and for moccasins, as well as in the manufact- 
ure of ropes and lines and for a variety of other purposes. At 
present, blankets and cheap cotton cloths have, to a considerable 
extent taken the place of buckskin in the manufacture of Indian 
garments. But to-day, the clothing of the Innuit is made almost 
entirely from the skins of the reindeer, dressed with the hair on, the 
garments worn next to the skin being made from the summer hides, 
on which the hair is short and fine, and the outer ones from skins 
taken later in the season, and therefore coarser. 


9 


130 The North American Cervide. 


Six unquestioned species of deer inhabit North America. These 
are the moose (4 de Americana—Jard.), the barren ground caribou 
( Rangifer Grenlandicus—Baird), the elk ( Cervus Canadensis — Erx- 
leben), the mule deer (Cariacus macrotis (Say) Gray), the black-tail 
deer (Carzacus Columbianus (Rich.) Gray), and the Virginia deer 
(Cartacus Virginianus (Bodd.) Gray). Beside these, there are 
several geographical races or varieties, the zodlogical status of some 
of which is, however, doubtful. The woodland caribou is a distinct 
race of the Arctic reindeer, and the California form of the mule deer 
appears also to be a good variety. In the several supposed races of 
Cariacus Virginianus, such as macrurus, leucurus, Mexicanus, and 
Coues?, size appears to be the distinguishing varietal characteristic. 
In the six species already mentioned, we have every variety of size and 
form, from the gigantic moose, which is taller than the largest horse, 
down to the little dwarf deer of Arizona, which at the withers meas- 
ures scarcely thirty-two inches in height. Not less is the difference in 
grace and beauty of form between the various North American mem- 
bers of this family. On the one hand stands the Virginia deer, whose 
very name is symbolical of elegance and beauty of motion; on the 
other, the moose, huge, ungainly, and, in most of its movements, 
awkward. With a head more hideous than that of a mule, a neck so 
short that it cannot reach the ground, legs of immense length, and 
huge horns shaped like coal shovels, it is as far as possible from being 
graceful or attractive. But regard it with the hunter’s eye, as, when 
startled, it dashes along with swinging trot, crashing through the 
forest and making the dead sticks snap and fly in its impetuous 
career, taking in its stride without any apparent effort the great fallen 
logs that lie in its course, and in a moment disappearing shadow-like 
among the bare tree trunks in the distance, and it will be acknowl- 
edged that, if not a graceful, it is at least a grand animal. Most of 
the North American deer, however, are beautiful and graceful. 

Before speaking in detail of the various species of Cervzde found 
in North America, it is desirable to explain just what a deer is. 

Roughly speaking, all hoofed animals are contained in the order 
Ungulata. This division of the Wammatia includes, therefore, the 
formerly accepted orders Pachydermata, Ruminantia, and Solidun- 
gula, which have been discarded by modern naturalists. The group 
is a very large one, its families being the horses, tapirs, rhinoceroses, 


The North Amencan Cervide. 131 


hippopotami, hogs, camels, musk-deer, deer, giraffe, and the Lovde, 
in which stand the cattle, sheep, and antelopes. The order is divided 
into Perrissodactyla and Artiodactyla, or odd and even toed ungu- 
lates. The distinction between the living representatives of these 
two groups is well marked, and the division is a convenient one; but 
it is probable that the future discovery of fossil forms of ungulates 
will show that the artiodactyles and perrissodactyles grade into one 
another, so that it will be impossible accurately to define the terms. 
Although these groups are loosely called odd-toed and even-toed 
ungulates, the fundamental difference between them does not consist 
in the number of digits on the foot, but in the fact that in the perris- 
sodactyles the development of the foot takes place in the line of the 
middle toe, which is usually symmetrical in itself, whereas in the 
artiodactyles the third and fourth digits share equally in this develop- 
ment, and together form a symmetrical pair. 

To make this clear, it is perhaps necessary to go a little further, 
and, by explaining the manner of progression of two of the more 
familiar forms of the order, to give an idea of the construction of 
these two types of ungulate foot. The horse is a perrissodactyle, 
having a single visible toe, which is symmetrical in itself. He walks 
upon the extremity of this toe, the hoof corresponding to the nail of 
the third or middle finger in man. Comparing it with the human 
hand and arm, it will be seen that the fore leg of the horse, from the 
hoof to the fetlock joint, corresponds to the middle finger, and the 
portion between the fetlock and what is isually termed the knee, to 
the middle metacarpal—the bone which lies between the knuckle of 
the third finger and the wrist. Following the leg up toward the 
body, it appears that the ‘‘ knee” of the horse is really its wrist; that 
the elbow is high up close to the body, while the humerus—the bone 
between the elbow and the shoulder—lies within the body, and out 
of sight. In the hind leg a similar sequence will be found. The 
animal walks on the toe corresponding to the third digit in the hu- 
man foot, the hock is the ankle, while the true knee is close to the 
body. The horse, therefore, supports his weight on the third digit 
of each foot. His thumb and little finger, and the first and fifth digits 
of the foot, have been wholly lost; but in the fore and hind foot the 
metacarpals and metatarsals of the second and fourth digits still per- 
sist in the form of the slender, sharp-pointed bones, called by horse- 


182 The North American Cervide. 


men side-bones or splints, which lie hidden beneath the skin, close to 
the large third digit, metacarpal or metatarsal. 

Now the ox is an artiodactyle. His weight is supported on the 
tips of two toes, which represent the third and fourth digits of the 
human hand, or foot, as the case may be. The first has been wholly 
lost, but the second and fifth are represented by the two little supple- 
mentary hooflets behind and above the main hoofs. The functional 
hoofs are symmetrical in pairs, the third and fourth digits being 
equally developed, and taking an equal part in the constitution of 
the foot and in performing its work. The metacarpals and metatar- 
sals of the third and fourth digits are equally developed, but are 
anchylosed together, so that they appear like a single bone, with, how- 
ever, two distinct articular surfaces at their lower ends to support the 
phalanges of the digits. The Cevvzd@ belong to the Artiodactyla, 
and their feet are constructed upon the same plan as those of the ox. 
They are also ruminants, and belong in a subdivision of the A r¢zo- 
dactyla styled Pecora, to which belong the Camelopardide (giraffes) 
and Bovede (cattle, sheep, and antelopes). 

All the Cevvzd@ have horns, and these alone are enough to distin- 
cuish this family from any other. The horns of the Loved are per- 
manent osseous outgrowths from the frontal bone of the skull, and are 
enclosed in a horny epidermic sheath, which is usually persistent, a 
single species —our prong-horn antelope — being the only exception 
to the rule. These bony outgrowths, which form the core of the horn, 
are usually permeated by large air sinuses, and from this fact the 
group have been called Cazzcornza (hollow-horned). In the deer 
family, however, the horns are constructed on quite a different plan. 
They are still outgrowths of bone from the frontals, but the outer 
epidermic sheath encloses them for a short time only, and, as soon as 
their growth is completed, is shed. The perfect horn is now mere 
dead bone. It remains firmly attached to the skull for a few months, 
and then drops off, to be renewed again the following year. These 
horns are, in fact, true bones, and in their constitution do not differ 
materially from the other bones of the body. 

Their method of growth is as follows: From each of the frontal 
bones there arises a short, stout process, growing outward and up- 
ward, forming what is called the pedicel. This pedicel is covered 


The North American Cervide. 133 


with ordinary hairy skin, except upon the upper flat circular surface 
of its extremity, on which the horn of the preceding year was sup- 
ported. Here the skin is naked and black. In the spring, usually 
about May 1, the time varying somewhat in the different species, 
and even in different individuals of the same species, this flat surface 
becomes convex, gradually swells outward, becomes longer, and soon 
takes the shape of a short spike. At first, it is straight and swollen 
and is shaped somewhat like a cucumber. It is now little more than 
a mass of coagulated blood inclosed in a sack of thin skin, which is 
covered by a coat of fine brown hair called “velvet,” and during the 
first part of its growth there is but little trace of bony structure 
apparent in it. The horn is soft to the touch, and may be somewhat 
compressed in the hand or bent a little in any direction. It is hot 
and feverish, too, and the pulsation of the arteries which supply it 
with blood may be felt. It is also extremely sensitive and tender, 
and the deer is extremely careful to avoid striking it against the 
trees or undergrowth near which he may pass. 

When the point is reached at which the first tine is to be put off, 
the extremity of the growing horn becomes somewhat flattened 
from side to side and then divides, the tine at first being quite small, 
and increasing in length much more gradually than the beam. The 
same thing takes place with each of the succeeding branches, so that 
the beam and all the tines attain their full length at the same time. 
During the whole period of their growth, the horns are abundantly 
supplied with blood-vessels, three distinct sets of arteries, according 
to Caton, passing up through and without the pedicel. The horns 
grow with very great rapidity, usually attaining their full size in 
about three months. Huxley, in speaking of this marvelously rapid 
growth, refers to a pair of antlers, weighing seventy-two pounds, 
which were produced in ten weeks. As might be imagined, the pro- 
duction of such a mass of osseous tissue in so short a time is a severe 
drain upon the animal’s system, and in most species the males at this 
time become very thin and weak. During the growth of the horn 
a circular notched and jagged ridge makes its appearance at the 
base of the horn just above the pedicel. This “burr” serves in a 
measure to protect the blood-vessels which pass along beneath the 
skin of the pedicel, and these take their way through it and between 
its projections, and thence along the channels in the surface of the 


QA 


134 The North American Cervide. 


horn beneath the periosteum—the membrane which incases the 
living bone. 

The horns reach their full size in August, and, from being at first 
very soft and afterward spongy, have at length become quite hard. 
They are, however, still covered with the ‘ velvet,” and beneath this 
the blood continues to circulate, but now more slowly than at any 
time since the horn began to grow. The time at which the horn 
becomes fit for use as a weapon of offense or defense varies slightly 
in the different species of our deer, but is usually about Septem- 
ber 1. The animal’s head now appears to trouble him, and to be irri- 
tated like a healing wound, and he rubs his horns violently in the 
bushes or against the branches and trunks of trees. The tender 
“velvet” is thus torn off and hangs in bleeding strips about his horns 
and head, but he continues to rub for several days, until at length the 
antlers are quite free from skin, their tips white and polished, and 
the inequalities about the burr filled with finely crushed fragments of 
bark. He is then ready for the rutting season, which immediately 
ensues. 

The horn is now dead, and at its connection with the skull—the 
extremity of the pedicel—absorption begins to take place, and in 
the course of four or five months the attachment to the frontal is so 
weakened that the horn drops off of its own weight. The end of the 
pedicel bleeds a little at first, but almost at once heals over, and until 
the following spring is covered with the black skin already mentioned. 

As a rule, these weapons are borne only by the male deer; but 
the female caribou always has small horns, and in very rare instances 
the female Virginia deer has been killed with a single spike, or a 
pair of straight, short, and scarcely branched horns. The horns of 
all our North American deer become fit for service in September, 
and they are shed at various times from December to March. 

From what has already been said, it will be seen that a deer is an 
artiodactyle ruminating ungulate, with solid, deciduous horns. 

The arrangement of the teeth in this family is as follows: In- 
cisors, §; Canines, j-9,or wanting ; molars, 7%. Canines are said to 
be always wanting in the female, but this is by no means true of all 
species, for they are usually present in the female of Cervus Cana- 
densis, and I have also detected small ones occasionally in Carzacus 
Columbianus. 


The North American Cervide. 135 


The keenness of the deer’s olfactories has become proverbial, and 
the experienced hunter, when starting out, always first satisfies him- 
self as to the direction of the wind; for a deer, when its nose has 
told it that a man is in the neighborhood, waits for no more definite 
information on the subject, does not seek to learn just where he is, 
nor how far off, but makes the best of its way from the spot. All 
deer are alike in possessing this keen power of scent and in the 
readiness with which they take to flight when warned by this 
sense. 

From the very nature of the case, the eyes are less to be relied on 
to warn the animal of danger. We are accustomed to hear men say 
that the deer’s vision is defective, and even so good an authority as 
Judge Caton makes this statement in his excellent work on this 
group. There seems to be no sufficient reason for supposing this to 
be the case. It is true that deer will pass close by a man sitting in 
the woods without seeing him, provided only he remains perfectly 
motionless ; but this does not necessarily imply any imperfection of 
vision. Other mammals and birds will do precisely the same thing. 
The deer would not walk up to a man standing or sitting in the mid- 
dle of a meadow, and where there were no surrounding objects. A 
man, if motionless, in the woods, when clothed in hunter's garb, very 
closely resembles a stump or a stick. The deer is not especially 
familiar with the human form and does not recognize in it anything 
alarming, 
any of the many other quiescent objects over which its eye passes, 


nor, since it is without motion, does it distinguish it from 


and which it has no especial reason for closely examining. Its expe- 
rience has taught it that these quiescent objects are not dangerous, 
and it therefore pays no attention to them unless they are markedly 
different in appearance from those to which its eye is accustomed. A 
white tent or a red shirt will, however, at once catch a deer’s eye, 
because these are unusual objects. Anything that moves is observed 
at once, and, unless it is recognized as something commonly seen 
and not dangerous, is avoided. The deer has no friends; the hand 
of man and of the larger animals is against him; and the fact that an 
object moves, and hence has life, is to him przmé facze evidence that 
it is an enemy, and so, on the slightest hint of danger, he takes to his 
heels. Like other wild creatures, the deer seems to recognize danger 
only in life, and life only in motion. 


136 The North American Cervide. 


Tue Moose (Alce Americana, Jard.). 


The moose is by far the largest of the Cervzde, and considerably 
exceeds a horse in height, often measuring six feet or more at the 
withers. This great height is, in a measure, due to the extreme 
length of the legs; but the long mane-like hairs of the neck, which 
are naturally slightly raised, also tend to make the animal appear 
taller than it really is. When the moose is at his best,—that is, in 
the autumn,—he is black, with tan legs and muzzle, and grayish belly 
and flanks, but later in the season the coat fades to a dark grizzled 
gray. The tips of the hairs are black, becoming pale gray about 
half-way toward the roots, and then changing to dull white. The 
young, when first born, are bright bay, sometimes with faint indica- 
tions of spots on the sides. These markings are soon lost, however, 
and by September the color of the body is brownish gray, the head 
and legs being reddish. 

The horns of the moose are broadly palmate, being sometimes 
sixteen inches across their widest part, and their spread is often five 
feet or more. The yearling bull has only a short spike; the horns 
of a two-year-old, now before me, are ten inches long, and a brow 
antler four inches in length springs from the beam six inches above 
the burr. The third year a small palm is developed, and for several 
seasons thereafter the horns increase in size. The head of this 
species is a marvel of ugliness, the great rounded nose, or mozffle, 
and the overhanging square-cut upper lip making it appear inde- 
scribably heavy and coarse. The neck is very short, and this fact, 
in connection with the very long legs, renders it difficult, if not 
impossible, for the moose to graze on level ground. The young are 
brought forth in May, and are usually two in number. A calf moose 
is a most grotesque and, at the same time, a most interesting little 
animal. Years ago, in the valley of the Upper Yellowstone, a tame 
one, which had been captured by the sons of a settler there, came 
under my notice. Late in the month of August it was as large as a 
good-sized calf, and was strong and fat. It was quite as much at 
home about the ranche as one of the dogs, and manifested not the 
slightest fear. The greater part of its time was spent among the 
willow brush down by the river-bank; but at the whistle, if it hap- 


HT. 


a 


FIC 


MOOSE 


A 


DHAM. 


ENRY SAN 


Hk 


N BY 


DRAW 


The North American Cervidea. 139 


pened to be hungry, it would come trotting swiftly up to the house. 
The boys who owned it rather complained because it would only 
obey the summons when it wanted a drink of milk, and said that at 
other times they were obliged to go down to the willows, and drive it 
up before them. It had been caught only two months before, and so, 
although it browsed to some extent on the undergrowth near the 
water, it still depended for subsistence mainly on cow’s milk. When 
the pail containing this was placed on the ground, the moose had ‘a 
hard struggle to reach it. He would straddle the pail with his fore 
legs, and thus bring his mouth to the level of the liquid. As this 
sunk lower, his feet would gradually spread farther and farther 
apart, until sometimes I would feel anxious lest he should split in 
two, and it was always a question whether he would be able to 
recover his upright position without accident, but he never seemed to 
find the slightest difficulty in doing this by means of an awkward 
bound, which brought his feet close together again. 

In the United States, moose are still found in small numbers in 
northern Maine, but are apparently extinct in the Adirondack region 
of New York, where they were once of frequent occurrence. In 
Michigan and Wisconsin, a few probably still exist; and they are 
more numerous in the tamarack swamps of Minnesota. Proceeding 
westward, no country adapted to this species is found until the main 
range of the Rocky Mountains is reached. In western Montana, 
northern Wyoming and Idaho, Washington, and portions of Oregon 
they are moderately abundant, though less so than the other species 
of Cervzd@ found in this region. They are often killed, however; but 
the character of the country which they most affect is so difficult that 
the hunter is likely to neglect the moose, preferring the less labor- 
ious task of stalking the elk or the mule-deer, or even the leg-tiring 
climb after mountain sheep. But, as the Western country settles up, 
the fate of the moose there will be what it has been in New York 
and other Eastern States, and this superb creature will be known 
only in history. Its one hope of preservation from extinction lies in 
the proper policing of the Yellowstone National Park and the pro- 
tection of its game, and here, if proper steps are taken, it may be 
preserved for all time. 

Since it is difficult or impossible for the moose to crop the grass 
on level ground, a large portion of its food is arboreous. In the 


‘ 


140 The North American Cervide. 


spring, it feeds on the young and tender shoots of the birch, the 
maples, poplar, and mountain ash, as well as those of some conifer- 
ous trees; during the summer, the willows and the water-lilies and 
other aquatic plants form a considerable portion of its food; and in 
winter, with its sharp incisors it nips the twigs and strips off the bark 
from different shrubs and trees. 

The horns of the moose start in April and become hard early in 
September. The rutting season at once follows, lasting until No- 
vember. At the beginning of this season the bulls are at their best, 
and then is the time to hunt them. Later, the flesh becomes some- 
what strong, and, before the rut is over, the animals have become 
thin, and are scarcely fit for food. 

It seems a pity that the moose cannot be domesticated. Experi- 
ence has shown that they are readily tamed, and that they can be 
broken to harness without much difficulty. The elk of Europe was 
formerly used to draw sledges in Sweden, and in America the moose 
has occasionally been used as a draught animal, and has shown itself 
strong and tireless. It has not been practicable, however, to use it 
during the rutting season. 

In winter, when the snows lie deep, and traveling becomes dif- 
ficult, the moose ‘yard up,” as it is called; that is, they collect in 
localities where food is abundant, and remain there until spring, or 
until they are driven off by hunters. This species is less gregarious 
than most deer, and it is somewhat unusual to see more than four or 
five together, and these are usually a single family of old and young. 


Tue Carrisou (Rangifer Grenlandicus, Baird). 


The older naturalists described the two forms of American caribou 
under different specific names, and regarded both as different from 
the reindeer of the Old World. At present, however, the best author- 
ities consider the woodland caribou (Rk. Grenlandicus tarandus ), 
which is the common Southern form, as a fairly good geographical 
race of the barren ground species, and look upon the circumpolar 
forms as identical. 

The head of the caribou, while less coarse than that of the moose, 
is far from presenting the delicate and graceful outlines seen in the 


Lhe North American Cervide. 141 


genera Cervus and Cariacus. It is blunt and rather heavy, shaped, in 
fact, somewhat like that of a cow, though less wide across the fore- 
head. The form is much heavier and stouter than that of most deer. 
During the summer, this species is dark brown on the body and legs, 
becoming paler, and almost white on the belly and rump. The head 
and neck are white at all seasons, and in winter a long beard or 
mane depends from the latter. Late in the autumn, the hair through- 
out becomes longer, and the color of the animal changes to a paler 
cast, so that it is a faded gray or soiled white, somewhat shaded with 
brownish on the legs and flanks. The young are at first spotted, 
but less pronouncedly so than is the case with most of our deer. 
The arctic form is much the smaller of the two, an adult male 
weighing, after having been eviscerated, only from ninety to one 
hundred and thirty pounds. This would give a live weight of 
from one hundred and forty to two hundred pounds. The wood- 
land form, on the other hand, is, with the exception of the moose 
and elk, the largest of the North American deer. A good-sized 
male will stand four feet high at the withers, and may weigh 
from four hundred to five hundred and fifty pounds. 

The horns of the caribou are remarkably large and heavy for the 
size of the animal, and this genus is the only one in which both sexes 
commonly produce these outgrowths. Those of the female are 
usually small, slender, and but slightly palmate, and bear two or 
three small tines. In the male, however, they are long, branching 
and irregular, most of the tines being widely expanded from above 
downward toward their extremities, and the palmate portion termi- 
nating at its margin in half a dozen short points. The antlers vary 
widely in the size and shape of their branchings, and do not seem to 
have any common form. Those of the arctic reindeer are nearly 
twice the actual size of the woodland race, while the animal which 
carries them is only about half as large. 

The caribou’s foot is broad and spreading, and the supplementary 
hooflets, or dew-claws, are large, the whole being admirably adapted 
for supporting the animal in its passage through marshes or over the 
snow. The thin, horny shell which forms the border of the hoof 
also serves it well when traveling on the ice. The representatives 
of the second and fourth digits contribute something to the support 
of the animal’s weight, and are always more or less worn and abraded 


142 The North American Cervide. 


BARREN-GROUND CARIBOU. 


on their inferior surfaces. When the animal trots swiftly, these dew- 
claws strike against one another with a loud, clattering noise. 

The food of this species consists principally of the so-called rein- 
deer moss (Cladonia rangiferina), which, in winter, they reach 
by scraping away the snow with their hoofs; but they also eat 
other mosses and lichens which grow upon the trees or on the 
barrens which they frequent. During the summer they feed on 
grasses and the tender shoots of shrubs, but do not appear at 
any season to strip the saplings of their bark as do the moose. 
The young are brought forth in May. 

As to the habits of the barren-ground caribou we are not 
well informed, for the species is known only to arctic explorers 
and to the servants of the Hudson Bay Company, in_ British 
America. Richardson’s accounts of it are, however, quite full, and 
from these it appears that this form does not differ materially 
from its woodland relative, except in the range of country which it 
inhabits, and in the greater extent and regularity of its migrations. 
The woodland caribou is much more southern in habitat, and fre- 
quents especially the forests of British America, occurring regularly 
in Maine and perhaps in the Rocky Mountain region of the United 
States along the border. The barren-ground deer, on the other 
hand, occupies the wide treeless plains about the Arctic Sea, where 


The North American Cervidea. 143 


the only other large ruminant is the musk-sheep, only retiring 
southward to the forest belt in winter. 

The migration of the caribou is a notable feature in its habits, 
and the journeys which it performs are longer and more regular than 
those of any other species of North American Cervzde. Others, as 
the elk ( Cervus Canadensis ) and the mule-deer (Carzacus macrotis ), 
change from one feeding ground to another at the approach of 
winter and again in spring; but such changes do not usually involve 
journeys of much more than seventy-five or a hundred miles, while 
those of the caribou are far more extended. In the woodland caribou, 
the migration seems to be little more than a mere restlessness, a de- 
sire to keep moving, or a natural change from a winter feeding ground 
to a summer one and back again; but, in the barren-ground form, the 
journeys take place with so much regularity and are on such a large 
scale that they have attracted the attention of all travelers who have 
had opportunities of observing them. The last-named deer spend the 
winter along the borders of the low forests near the arctic circle, and 
at the approach of spring begin to travel northward toward the 
shores of the Arctic sea, which they reach early in May, the females 
preceding the males. Here the young are born, and the summer is 
spent. The rutting season is in September, and soon afterward the 
herds retrace their steps southward. In the island of Newfoundland, 
however, where the woodland form is the only one found, a general 
movement of these deer takes place in April, at which time they 
leave the lowlands on which they have passed the winter, and where 
food is at that season more easily obtained, and travel in a north- 
westerly direction toward the higher mountainous country. Here 
they remain during the summer, and at the approach of cold weather 
a retrcgrade movement ensues. 

Caribou are notorious for being great travelers and almost con- 
stantly on the move. Their powers ‘of scent are very keen, and when 
much hunted they are extremely wary and difficult of approach, and 
if once started it is impossible to come up with them, for they do not 
cease their flight until they have put a long distance between them- 
selves and the danger which threatened. The gait of the caribou is 
a long, swift trot. It never gallops, though when first frightened, it 
may make a few startled bounds. This tireless trot, it is said, can be 
kept up for many hours. 


144 The North American Cervide. 


Tue Etx (Cervus Canadensis, Erxleben). 


The elk, or, as it is sometimes called, the wapiti, is a near rela- 
tive of the red deer of Europe, but is a much larger animal. At 
the withers it measures about five feet in height, being thus about 
as tall as a horse. The females are somewhat smaller. The shape 
of the elk is much like that of the common deer, being graceful, 
and having none of the coarseness and awkwardness of the moose 
and caribou. The head is small and finely formed, the legs 
slender and delicate, and the whole shape strong, yet elegant. 
During the greater portion of the year the color of the elk is a 
yellowish brown, of a somewhat varying shade, the head, neck, 
legs, and belly being a dark wood brown. I have sometimes killed 
specimens in autumn so pale that they might fairly be called yellow, 
and have seen others in the same band which were almost brown. 
At the approach of winter, the coat becomes darker throughout. 
On the rump, extending up on the back above the tail, and also 
down on the inner side of the legs, is a patch of yellowish white, 
bordered by a stripe of dark brown or black. The tail is 
extremely short, and is clothed with hair only upon the upper 
surface and sides. The hair upon the neck is always much longer 
and coarser than that on the body, and in winter increases in 
length so as to become really a mane. The elk is provided with 
quite a heavy coat of short, close wool, which is, however, con- 
cealed by the hair, and is only to be observed in spring, when the 
pelage is shed. The horns of this species, which are only 
borne by the males, are long, cylindrical, and branching, and are 
much more nearly straight in the beam than those of any other 
North American deer. They are usually very symmetrical — though 
abnormal forms are sometimes seen—and bear on each beam 
five or more tines, directed forward, inward, and upward. The antler 
of the bull elk in his second year is a straight spike from ten to 
eighteen inches long, which is usually bifurcated. 

The elk was formerly distributed over the whole of temperate 
North America, its range having been even more extended than that 
of the buffalo, and almost as wide as the Virginia deer’s. The ad- 
vance of the settlements has, however, caused its extinction throughout 


The North American Cervide. 145 


HEAD OF AMERICAN ELK. 


the greater portion of its former habitat, and to-day there is prob- 
ably only one very circumscribed locality east of the Mississippi River 
where it is to be found in the feral state. In the dense forests of the 
lower peninsula of Michigan it is said that a few still exist, but their 
numbers are becoming less each year, and before long they will all 
have disappeared. West of the Missouri River, and in the Rocky 
Mountains, there are regions in which this species is even yet mod- 
erately abundant; but it is now impossible to find them anywhere in 
such numbers as formerly. Less than ten years ago, there were 
many secluded localities in Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana, where, 
in the late autumn and winter, these animals would coliect in bands 
numbering thousands of individuals; but at the present day it is 
unusual to see one hundred together. The hide of the elk has a 
10 


146 The North Amencan Cervide. 


commercial value, which makes it sought after by those butchers 
of the plains called “skin hunters”; and the size and beauty of the 
animal causes it to be ruthlessly pursued by so-called sportsmen, who 
are eager to kill, so that, on their return to civilization, they may 
boast of the slaughter they have made among these graceful deni- 
zens of plain and mountain. The same wanton butchery, which 
has over the greater portion of our country exterminated the . 
buffalo and the moose, is causing the elk in like manner to 
disappear. 

The young are born in May and June, and are at first bright bay 
in color, profusely spotted with white, after the manner of the com- 
mon red deer. At the time of the birth of the calves, the females are 
scattered and the bulls keep by themselves in small companies of 
two, three, or half a dozen. If in a mountain country, they frequent 
the highest hills, usually close to the snow line, and do not move about 
much ; while, if on the plains, they spend their time among the thick 
willow brush along streams. About the first of August, the elk 
begin to ‘‘band up,” as the hunters phrase it, and at this time they 
are to be found in scattering companies, which remain together until 
the rutting season begins in September. Each male now collects 
as many cows as possible, and keeps them together, jealously guard- 
ing them and driving away any other bulls which may approach. 
This lasts for a month or more, and during this time the bulls are 
constantly moving about, looking after the cows that are under their 
charge, and fighting. Many little groups of bulls, however, will be 
found without any cows. 

After the rut is over, the elk collect in large bands, and at the 
approach of winter shift from place to place, gradually working 
toward their winter feeding grounds. These are usually bald hills, 
which the winds keep swept clear of snow, so that the grass is 
always exposed. In such situations they spend the winter. 

The usual gait of the elk is a long, swift trot, which it can keep 
up for a great length of time without manifesting fatigue. When 
greatly frightened they sometimes run, but this pace, while perhaps 
somewhat faster than the trot, soon tires the animal. This species is 
killed almost exclusively by still-hunting, though, on the plains, it 
is not unusual to run them down on horseback. This requires a 
very good horse and an open, favorable country. 


The North American Cervide. 147 


Tue Mute-DeEr (Cariacus macrotis (Say) Gray). 


This species equals the common Virginia deer in height, but is 
more stoutly built, has somewhat shorter legs, and is in all respects 
a heavier, less graceful animal. The ears are the most striking 
characteristic of this deer, and from them it has received the name 
“mule,” or the Spanish equivalent éw77o, deer. They are extremely 
large, being nearly twice as long and wide as those of our com- 
mon species, and when seen thrown forward, as the animal stands 
gazing curiously at one, or flapping backward and forward as it runs 
away, are sure to attract attention. The tail, from which it takes 
its more common, but incorrectly applied, name, ‘“‘ black tail,” is quite 
unlike that of any other species of our Cervzde. It is short, round, 
naked beneath, clothed on its upper surface with very short, white 
hairs, and terminates in a thick brush of longer jet black ones. In 
summer, the coat of the mule-deer is red, the hairs being short, 
and so sparsely distributed that the black skin is easily seen through 
them. There is a triangular patch of white upon the rump, cross- 
ing it at, or a little above, the root of the tail. Early in the month 
of September, the close, thick, winter dress begins to grow, and the 
summer hairs fall out. The tips of the hairs of this winter pelage are 
black ; and when it first starts, the animal for a short time appears 
almost black. Later, as the hairs grow longer, the color becomes 
steel-gray ; and toward the end of the winter, when they are longest, 
and each one shows a greater proportion of white, the coat becomes 
still paler in cast. 

The horns do not bend forward so much as do those of Cavzacas 
Virginianus, and each beam of the pair is forked at least once, and 
the division is so equal that it is difficult to decide whether the ante- 
rior branch is the main beam and the posterior a tine, or the reverse. 
This forking may sometimes occur twice or three times in the same 
horn. 

The mule-deer is found throughout the greater part of the Mis- 
souri River region, and thence westward on the plains, in the Rocky 
Mountains, and in the Sierra Nevadas. It is an inhabitant of rough, 
broken country, and on the plains is usually only to be found about 
high buttes, in the bad lands, or where the country is diversified with 


148 The North American Cervide. 


HEAD OF MULE-DEER. 


rocky ridges dotted here and there with scattering pines or junipers. 
Its favorite resorts are the coz/ces, gulches, and cafions which so often 
break up the high table-lands of the central plateau of this continent; 
but it is as often to be found among the green timber high up on the 
mountain-side, or, in summer, among the low trees that grow just 
below the snow-line. It is to such localities as the last named that 
the bucks resort during the summer, when they are “growing their 
horns,” and when their thin coat of hair affords them little or no pro- 
tection against the flies. 

The young of the mule-deer are born the last of May or early in 
June. They are two in number, and are prettily spotted like the calf 
elk, the spots being lost in September, when the summer coat is shed. 
Just previous to this date, the mother begins to wean her fawns, and 
hides from them, not permitting them to suckle her. They are, 
therefore, quite thin in the early autumn, but soon learn to forage for 
themselves, and by the time that cold weather sets in are fat and in 
good condition. 


The North American Cervide. 149 


The rutting season is in September and October, the “velvet” 
having been shed from the antlers during the early part of the for- 
mer month. At the beginning of the rut the bucks are enormously 
fat, and the flesh at this time is superior to that of any deer with 
which I am acquainted. 

Caton’s variety of the mule-deer ( C. macrotis Caltfornicus ) (Am. 
Nat. X., 464, August, 1876) is distinguished from the ordinary. form 
by a more reddish cast of pelage, and by the presence of a dark line 
extending down the upper surface of the tail and uniting with the 
black brush at the tip. 


Biack-Tatt DEER (Carizacus Columbianus (Rich) Gray). 


The true black-tail deer is intermediate in size between the mule 
and the common deer. In form and build it more nearly resembles the 
former, while weighing about as much as the latter. The horns curve 
forward more decidedly than in Caréacus macrotis, but in the forking 
of the beam it resembles that species. The tail, on the other hand, 
is more like that of C. /zrgznzanus, being broad and flat, though not 
so long as in that species, and covered throughout with hair. It is 
white below and black above and on the sides. 

In color, the black-tail resembles our common red deer, being 
bright bay in summer and changing to gray in the winter. The 
under surface of the head and the belly are white. The changes in 
the pelage, as regards time and character, are similar to those which 
take place in the mule-deer. 

The range of this species is the most circumscribed of any of our 
Cervide. It appears to be confined to a comparatively narrow strip 
of territory—the mountain ranges of the Pacific coast. There is no 
record of its capture east of the Sierra Nevada mountains, although 
a hunter of reliability has informed me that, in an experience of ten 
years in the Central Rocky Mountain region, he believes that he has 
killed three deer of this species. Something more definite than a 
doubtful statement of this kind is required, however, before we can 
extend the limits of this species beyond those given above. In. the 
Sierra Nevadas, and in the mountains of the Coast Range, the black- 
tail is abundant, sharing its range to the south with Caton’s mule- 

IOA 


150 The North American Cervide. 


deer, and to the north with the caribou and the elk. Its northern 
limits do not appear to be very definitely known. I have myself 
met with it as far north on the Pacific coast as latitude 51°, and 
‘it may be assumed that it is found many degrees farther to the 
northward, 

The young of this species are usually born in May, and are 
spotted, and this ornamentation is decidedly more vivid than in the 
young of the mule-deer and the elk. The spots are more numerous, 
more regularly arranged in lines, and more sharply defined, than in 
those species, and thus approach the markings on the young of the 
common deer. 

The black-tail deer is an inhabitant of the dense coniferous 
forests of the Pacific coast, and appears to delight especially in such 
tangled solitudes as their dark and damp recesses afford. They are 
seldom found far from the timber, or from some dense cover into 
which they can retreat if alarmed. Along the sea-coast, especially 
to the northward, where they have been but little hunted, they come 
down frequently to the salt water, for the purpose of feeding upon a 
species of sea-weed cast up by the waves, and the trails made in 
their passage up and down the sides of the mountains are often worn 
a foot or two deep, showing a great amount of travel over them. The 
Indians of British Columbia kill great numbers of these deer along 
the water's edge, stealing up within shot in their light canoes, which 
they paddle noiselessly along, close to the shore. Still hunting in 
the forest is practiced with success in many localities. Deer are very 
abundant on the islands and among the mountains of this coast, 
and as they are not often disturbed they are very unsuspicious, and 
will frequently permit the hunter to approach very close without 
taking the alarm. There are, however, great areas of territory 
where, owing to the thick and tangled character of the undergrowth, 
stalking is out of the question, because of the impossibility of noise- 
less progress through the thickets. Hounds are therefore often used 
to drive the deer to certain well-known runways, or into lakes, rivers, 
or arms of the sea, where the hunter has no difficulty in paddling or 
rowing up to the swimming quarry and dispatching it. Like the 
common deer, the black-tail is a rapid swimmer, and I have seen the 
strength and skill of two practiced paddlers severely taxed to bring 
a light canoe up to a deer swimming across a lake. 


The North American Cervide I51 


VirGiniA DEER (Carzacus Virginianus (Bodd.) Gray). 


The red deer is so well known that an extended description of its 
physical characteristics seems scarcely necessary. The summer coat 
is bright bay ; the throat and under surface of the tail being white 
at all seasons. In the autumn, the coat becomes grayer and the 
animal is then said to be “in the blue.” There is usually a reddish 
or brownish cast over the deer’s coat, even in winter. The upper sur- 
face of the tail is dark brown. The shape of the Virginia deer is 
the most graceful of any of our species. The head is slim and 
delicate, the ears fine and pointed, and the legs long and slender. 
The conspicuous feature of this species, when frightened, is the tail, 
which is carried high and shows the white under-surface. 

This has the widest distribution of any of our deer, extending 
from ocean to ocean, and from about the fifty-fourth parallel of north 
latitude south into Mexico, and, perhaps, Central America. Unlike 
the elk and the mule-deer, it does not retreat before the advance 
of civilization, but when driven from its home, disappears for a short 
time only, and soon returns. To-day, there are probably not more 
than one or two States in the Union in which wild deer do not exist, 
and a high authority recently wrote, “It may be found to-day in 
every State and Territory of the United States.” 

There is a very wide variation in the size of individuals of this 
species in different and even in the same sections of country. On 
these differences, as distinguishing characters, a number of supposed 
varieties of C. Virgintanus (leucurus, macrurus, Mexicanus, and 
Coues?) have been based, most of which appear to be of doubtful 
validity. There are big deer and little deer, just as there are tall and 
short men; and until some characters more tangible and constant than 
size can be given, it is scarcely worth while to dignify small speci- 
mens of the Virginia deer with varietal names. In the year 1874, 
during the first expedition of the late General Custer into the Black 
Hills of Dakota, deer were found there in great numbers, and most 
of them were of this species. It was a common thing to kill, on the 
same day, adult bucks, which one man could without difficulty lift 
and put on a horse, and others, two or three times as large, which 
required the united strength of two men to put in the same position. 


152 The North American Cervide. 


The Virginia deer seems equally at home among the mountains, 
in the forest, or on the prairie. It delights in dense cover in which 
to rest, and in a prairie country conceals itself during the greater 
portion of the day in the willowy thicket along the streams or among 
the high grass of sloughs. 

From its wide distribution and the consequent variety of the loca- 
tions in which it makes its home, it is hunted in a number of different 
ways. Still hunting is the most legitimate as it is the most difficult 
method. Hunting with hounds, as usually practiced in the South, 
has much to recommend it. The dogs are put on the track of the 
deer, and the hunters, armed with shot-guns, follow on horseback, 
keeping as near the hounds as possible, and endeavoring, by cut- 
ting across corners’and riding chords of circles, to get within shot 
of the fleeing animal. To successfully follow the chase through 
forest, swamp, and canebrake, or along the rough mountain-sides, 
requires courage, nerve, and a firm seat in the saddle, and no better 
school of horsemanship could be devised than this method of deer 
hunting. Its excellence was well shown during the early part of the 
war, when the irregular Confederate cavalry, armed with double- 
barreled shot-guns, were very troublesome to the Union forces. 
Hounds are also employed to drive the deer to runways or to water. 
It requires no very great degree of skill to shoot a deer as he runs by 
within thirty or forty yards, and even less to kill one when swimming 
in the water but a few feet from the boat. The latter method is there- 
fore in high favor with the average summer tourist, who cares nothing 
as to how his game is secured, provided only he can truthfully boast 
that he has killed a deer. Jacking is a very pernicious method often 
employed in summer or when deer are abundant. A lantern or fire 
of some kind is carried, which discloses the position of the deer, 
while the glare of the light dazzles it, and it stands gazing for a 
longer or shorter period, giving the hunter an opportunity to shoot. 
“ Breasting”” is employed where the deer make their home among 
very high grass, such as is to be found on some of the prairies of the 
South-west or in the great beds of the dry lakes which are to be 
found in northern and western Nebraska. Here the thick cane-grass 
stands seven or eight feet high, and the head of a mounted man is 
only just visible above the tops. Several horsemen, armed with 
shot-guns, form a line on the leeward side of the space to be hunted 


The North American Cervidea. [53 


over and ride through it, a little more than a gun-shot apart. The 
deer that lie in their course are started from the grass, and bound 
off ahead of the hunters, every now and then showing their backs 
above the tops of the grass. The horsemen have to shoot from the 
saddle, and very quickly, to secure their game. 

Fossil deer occur in the tertiary deposits of North America. In 
the Miocene of the West are found remains of deer-like animals, 
renus of true deer, 


Oo 
co) 


Leptomeryx,; and from the lower Pliocene a g 
Cosoryx, has been described, of which there are several species. 
These all have very small antlers, which are divided into two tines. 
In their osteological characters these deer differed from existing 
species in many respects. The orbit was not closed behind, and the 
metapodial (splint) bones were entire, though those of the second 
and fifth digits were very slender. 

In the Post-pliocene deposits, species of deer, closely allied to 
our elk, moose, and caribou, have been found, the latter having been 


met with far south of its present range. 


MOOSE-HUNTING. 


By CHARLES C. WARD. 


T is much to be regretted that a mammal of so much dignity 
and importance as the American moose (Cervus A lces — Linn. ; 
Jardine) is fast disappearing from our forests. 
Tardy legislation is doing something, it is true, for his protection, 


Alce Americanus 


and may probably prevent a repetition of such a scene as happened 
on the Tobique River in the province of New Brunswick, several years 
ago, when several hundred of these noble animals were slaughtered 
for the sake of their hides, and their carcasses left to rot in the forest. 

To the early settlers in the States of Maine, Vermont, and New 
Hampshire, and the provinces of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, the 
flesh of the moose was the main-stay, and his hide furnished them 
with serviceable clothing. At the present time, with the exception 
of Maine, the moose are almost extinct in the Eastern States, and 
they are becoming scarce in Nova Scotia. In New Brunswick, they 
are seldom found on the rivers emptying into the Bay of Fundy, 
where in former days they existed in vast numbers. They can yet 
be found, however, in considerable numbers on the head-waters of 
the Restigouche and Miramichi rivers and their branches; in the 
provinces of Quebec and Ontario south of the St. Lawrence; in 
the central parts of the county of Rimouski, and thence southward 
along the borders of Maine, and all through the country south of 
the city of Quebec to New Hampshire. In the county of Gaspé 
they are extinct, having been exterminated by ruthless hunters for 
the sake of their hides. North of the Ottawa and St. Lawrence 
rivers, the moose ranges from Lake Wanapitiping nearly to the 
Saguenay. Their northern limit is now somewhere near the water- 
shed of Hudson Bay ; it was formerly beyond it. The western limit 
is about the longitude of Lake Huron. None are now found north 


Moose - Hunting. 55 


of Lake Superior, although they have existed in this region as far 
north as the Albany River. In the North-west territories, they are 
found as far as the Mackenzie River. A friend gave me the measure- 
ments of a moose killed in Rupert’s Land, which, if correct, would 
go far to verify some of the old-time stories of the wondrous size 
of the moose. In the United States, moose are still found in sufficient 
numbers to warrant the belief that, by judicious protection, the 
species might be perpetuated. They are quite abundant in Oregon, 
Washington Territory, and the whole northern border of the United 
States as far as the Lake of the Waods. They are still met with 
occasionally in the northern part of Michigan, along the shores of 
Lake Superior, and very rarely in northern Vermont and the Adi- 
rondack region. They also inhabit the wooded region of the great 
lakes and that lying thence westward to the Rocky Mountains. The 
southernmost point at which they have been found in the West is 
in Idaho, on the forks of the Snake River near the Three Tetons, 
where several were seen and killed by members of the United States 
Geological and Geographical Survey of the Territories. The present 
southern limits of the moose on the Atlantic coast are the provinces 
of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, in the Bay of Fundy. These 
provinces are still his favorite haunts, and here in the present day 
he is most accessible to the hunter. This is perhaps owing to the 
infinite number of lakes and the prevalence of swampy, low-lying 
woods and bogs, in which he loves to dwell.* 

The color of the American moose when in his prime is almost jet 
black, becoming more or less streaked with brownish gray as the ani- 
mal advances in years. The head is so large as to appear out of har- 
mony with the other proportions of the body. The ears are upward 
of one foot long, yellowish brown in color, and bordered with a nar- 
row strip of a deeper shade, the inside lined with yellow hairs. Sur- 
rounding the orbit of the eye the skin is destitute of hair, and is of a 
pale flesh color; the eye is a velvety brown, and soft in expression, 
except when the animal is wounded or brought to bay, when it as- 
sumes a lurid hue and a twinkling, savage expression. The flanks 


*T beg to acknowledge the kindness of Professor Baird, of the Smithsonian In- 
stitution, Dr. Elliott Coues, U.S. A., and Professor Bell, of the Geological Survey of 
Canada, in furnishing me with the latest information with regard to the geographical 
distribution of the moose. 


156 Moose -Hlunting. 


are a yellowish white, and the legs brown, and of extraordinary 
length. White, of Selborne, writing of a moose which he had seen, 
quaintly remarks upon ‘the strange length of its legs, on which it 
was tilted up much in the manner of the birds of the gralle order.” 
A curious muscular development of the upper lip, termed the moufie, 
is common to both sexes, and a pendulous gland hangs from the neck 
of the males. The neck and withers are surmounted by a volumin- 
ous mane of a light gray color. This hair is dyed various brilliant 
colors by the Indians, and is used to embroider designs upon birch 
bark, velvet, and other materials. 

The largest moose that I ever saw measured six feet and nearly 
five inches at the withers, a trifle less at the buttock, and four feet 
and five inches from the withers to the buttock, and from withers to 
the top of the skull, twenty-seven inches. The head measured two 
feet and five inches from the moufle to a point between the ears, and 
nine inches between the eyes. The horns weighed forty-five pounds, 
and measured four feet and three inches from tine to tine at their 
widest part, and at their greatest width the palmated parts measured 
thirteen inches. The horn, at its junction with the skull, was eight 
inches in circumference. The whole carcass, before gralloching; must 
have weighed close upon twelve hundred pounds. I have heard of 
cases where the specimen exceeded these measurements, but the re- 
ports lacked confirmation. The moose is commonly represented 
very much higher at the withers than at the buttock, which is un- 
doubtedly a mistake, as in no instance (and I have measured many 
animals) have I found any great difference in favor of height at the 
withers, although the maze gives a casual observer a contrary im- 
pression. The great length of its legs and prehensile lip are of much 
benefit to the moose, and wonderfully adapted to his mode of feeding, 
which consists in peeling the bark from, and browsing upon, the 
branches and tender shoots of deciduous trees. When the branches 
or tops of trees are beyond his reach, he resorts to the process termed 
by hunters ‘riding down the tree,” by getting astride of it and bear- 
ing it down by the weight of his body until the coveted branches are 
within his reach. 

The senses of smelling and hearing are very acute; his long ears 
are ever moving to and fro, intent to catch the slightest sound, and 
his wonderfully constructed nose carries the signal of danger to his 


Moose -Hunting. I 


ion 
~I 


RIDING DOWN A TREE, 


brain long before the unwary hunter has the slightest idea that his 
presence is suspected. When alarmed, this ponderous animal moves 
away with the silence of death, carefully avoiding all obstructions, 
and selecting the moss-carpeted bogs and swales, through which he 
threads his way with a persistence that often sets at defiance all the 
arts and endurance of even the practiced Indian hunter. 

Much has been said and written of the ungainly appearance of 
the moose. Probably very few persons have seen the moose in his 
wild state,— perhaps only after he has passed through the hands of 
some unskilled taxidermist, whence he emerges, in most instances, 
an animal fearfully and wonderfully made. No person who has seen 
this noble animal in his native forests could fail to be impressed with 
the majesty and grandeur of his appearance. A few years ago, I was 
painting some tree studies near one of the numerous lakes in Char- 
lotte County, New Brunswick, and for a long time I sat working in 
utter silence, until my attention was attracted by a movement in the 
branches, and presently a magnificent moose came out into the open, 
and walked quietly down to a pond almost directly in front of me, 
with his head erect and his broad antlers thrown back almost to his 


158 Moose - Hunting. 


withers; his jet black skin, spotted white by the checkered sunlight, 
shone as glossy as satin. For a moment he stood silent, as if listen- 
ing, then moved away, all unconscious that he had had a spectator. 

A full-grown moose sheds his horns in the month of January, and 
they are not again fully restored until the end of August. By this 
time the velvet has been worn off and the horns are a rich fawn color, 
shaded or marked with dark brown, and polished by having been 
rubbed on the stems of the poplar and larch. The animal is now in 
the perfection of his strength and condition, and emerging from the 
swamps and bogs where he has spent the summer, feeding on the 
yellow pond-lilies, and evading the moose-fly and similar pests by 
frequently standing neck deep in some forest lake, he abandons the 
long silence maintained while his horns were in the velvet, and enters 
upon the rutting season—a noisy, aggressive, and pugnacious char- 
acter. The fights which now occur between the old males are terrific. 
Greek has met Greek, and the combat is often prolonged until their 
horns become inextricably interlaced, and both animals die a miser- 
able death. I once saw, in the month of October, two pairs of horns 
firmly locked together, with parts of the skulls attached, sticking out 
of a swamp, but as we were on the trail of a moose and had no time 
to spare, I failed to secure them; I could never find the spot again. 

Early in May, the cow-moose brings forth two, and sometimes 
three calves, of a dark fawn color and slightly dappled. It has been 
affirmed that the cow-moose retires to some sequestered spot in order 
to protect her young from the attacks of bears and also of the bull- 
moose, but I am of opinion that the latter is not at any time very 
distant from the cow and her calves. 

On one occasion, in the early summer, | saw an old cow-moose, 
with two calves, come out from an island in a lake and disport in the 
water. Presently a very large bull-moose came out of the forest at a 
little distance from them, and began to eat the roots of the yellow 
pond-lily, which he procured by diving for them and bringing them 
to the surface of the water in his teeth. While he was still feeding, 
the cow and her calves retired. 

On the approach of winter, the moose form into small herds of 
five or six animals, often containing a bull, a cow, and the young of 
two seasons, and establish themselves in what is termed a moose- 
yard. The yard is situated in some part of the country where there 


Moose -flunting. 159 


A MOOSE FAMILY. 


is an abundant growth of young deciduous trees, such as the white 
birch, poplar, maples, and mountain ash; these, together with a few 
of the coniferous trees, the balsam fir and juniper, form the staple 
diet of the moose. Some writers maintain that the bull-moose never 
yards with the females and young, but this is disproved by my own 
experience as a moose-hunter, extending over a period of many 
years, and in company with one of the most intelligent and accom- 
plished Indian guides. I have on many occasions found and killed 
males occupying the same yard with old and young females. A few 
years ago, when out on a hunt with my friend, Colonel W 
some Indian guides, we discovered a moose-yard, occupied by a very 


, and 


large bull, two cows, and younger animals. After a long and des- 
perate hunt, we killed the bull and captured one of the young moose 
alive. I admit that very old bulls, grizzled with age, their horns 
almost bleached white, affect solitary habits, and yard alone. 

The maximum age attained by the moose is difficult to deter- 
mine; some hunters profess to judge by the number of tines on the 
horns, but that method is not to be relied upon. The Indians say 
that the horns do not attain their full size until the sixth year, and 


160 Moose -Hunting. 


A MOOSE-YARD. 


that then the tines and palmation are perfect; and further, that the 
duration of life is probably about twenty years. 

There are three modes of hunting the moose, termed still hunting, 
fire hunting, and calling. There was another mode, which, I am 
happy to say, legislation has in a great measure suppressed. | refer 
to the wholesale slaughter of the unfortunate animals when the deep- 
lying snows of a protracted winter had imprisoned them in their 
yards and rendered them only a too easy prey to the unprincipled 
butchers who slew them for the sake of their skins. 

To be successful in still hunting, or creeping upon the moose, 
necessitates the aid of a skillful Indian guide. Very few, if any, white 
men ever attain the marvelous precision with which an Indian, to 
whom the pathless forest is an open book which he reads as he runs, 
will track to its death an animal so exceedingly sensitive to the 
approach of man. This gift, or instinct, seems born with the Indian, 
and is practiced from his early childhood. It is not uncommon to 


Moose-Hlunting. 161 


find little Indian boys in the forest, several miles from the wigwam, 
armed with a bow and arrows, the latter having an old knife-blade 
inserted in the heads. One little fellow named Socotoma was a very 
expert shot, and woe betide wez¢-chz-ess, the grouse, and mat-a-giuzs, 
the hare, if they happened in the way of littke Socotoma when he 


SOCOTOMA, 


was on the war-path; and although he could not thus be killed, even 
moo-in, the bear, would be likely to feel the “stinging arrow.” 

The finely modulated voice of the Indian is especially adapted to 
imitate the different calls and cries of the denizens of the forest, and 
with a trumpet of birch bark he will imitate to the life the plaintive 
low of the cow-moose and the responsive bellow of the bull. Early 
morning, twilight, or moonlight are all favorable to this manner of 
hunting. The Indian, having selected a favorable position for his 

II 


162 Moose - Hunting. 


THE MOOSE-CALL, 


purpose, generally on the margin of a lake, heath, or bog, where he 
can readily conceal himself, puts his birchen trumpet to his mouth, 
and gives the call of the cow-moose in a manner so startling and 
truthful that only the educated ear of an Indian could detect the 
counterfeit. If the call is successful, presently the responsive bull- 
moose is heard crashing through the forest, uttering his blood-curd- 
ling bellow or roar, and rattling his horns against the trees in chal- 
lenge to all rivals, as he comes to the death which awaits him. 
Should the imitation be poor, the bull will either not respond at all, 


Moose -Flunting. 163 


or approach in a stealthy manner and retire on discovery of the 
cheat. Moose-calling is seldom attempted by white men, the gift of 
calling with success being rare even among the Indians. 

Fire hunting, or hunting by torch-light, is practiced by exhibit 
ing a bright light, formed by burning bunches of birch bark in places 
known to be frequented by moose. The brilliant light seems to fas 
cinate the animal, and he will readily approach within range of the 
rifle. The torch placed in the bow of a canoe is also used as a lure 
on a lake or river, but is attended with considerable danger, as a 
wounded or enraged moose will not unfrequently upset the canoe. 

The mode of hunting which generally prevails is that of still 
hunting, or creeping upon the moose, which is undoubtedly the most 
sportsmanlike way, and affords the greatest pleasure. Still hunting 
can be practiced in September, and all through the early winter 
months, until the snow becomes so deep that it would be a sin to 
molest the poor animals. The months of September and October 
are charming months for camping out, and the moose are then in 
fine condition, and great skill and endurance are called for on the 
part of the hunter. The moose possesses a vast amount of pluck, 
and when once started on his long, swinging trot, his legs seem tire- 
less, and he will stride over bowlders and windfalls at a pace which 
soon distances his pursuers, and, but for the sagacity of the Indian 
guide in picking out the trail, would almost always escape. 


STILL HUNTING. 


164 Moose-Hlunting. 


FIRE HUNTING. 


If the sportsman combines the tastes of a naturalist with his love of 
out-door life, his camping-out holiday will prove all the more enjoy- 
able. One often hears the remark, ‘“ How strange it is that animals, 
birds, life of any kind, is so seldom met with in an American forest!” 
My own experience, and I doubt not that of many other lovers of 
nature, has been very different, for whatever your name may be, you 
will seldom gain the confines of the forest without being greeted as 
‘Sweet Willie,” by £2-La-neas, the smaller red-polled linnet, and you 
will not have traveled far before the little chickadee, hanging head 
down as is his wont, will welcome you to the forest. The Indian 
name for little black-cap, £7ch-e-ge-gelas, is surprisingly like his note 
of greeting. And before you fairly get your lunch out, that ubiqui- 


Moose- Hunting. 105 


tous rascal with the long string of jaw-breaking names, Corvus Cana- 
densis, Perisoreus Canadensis, Canada jay, ump-kanu-sts, whisky-jack, 
or moose-bird, will perch on the toe of your boot, or some other point 
of vantage, and dispute every mouthful with you; while me-kok, the 
little red squirrel, is sure to be on hand, chattering querulously for 
his share of the crumbs. Presently, the tall ferns in front of you 
wave slightly, and mat-a-gus, the hare, bounds off; and if you watch 
quietly you will probably see gwak-ss, the fox, follow quickly on his 
trail,h—and all this while you are eating your lunch. That over, you 
start on the business of the day, fishing or shooting, and at almost 
every step you are surrounded by the denizens of the forest. There is 
that old hen-grouse again, with the broken wing, which is not broken 
at all; she is only fooling you while her brood of little chicks are 
scampering off out of your way. That bunch of tumbled brakes, not 
yet recovered from the pressure of some heavy body, tells you that 
moo-in, the bear, has been roused from his mid-day nap, and is beating 
a hasty retreat on your approach. <A  foot-print in the wet moss, not 
unlike that of a large dog, hints to you that ma-a/-s7n, the wolf, is at 
his old tricks again, chasing the deer. If you are bent on fishing, and 
are careful as you approach the stream, you may detect that industri- 
ous individual, gua-dec?, the beaver, repairing a leak in his dam. And 
in particular, rest assured, if you succeed in catching some trout, that 
the daring thief, che-of-k7s, the mink, will be apt to steal them from 
under your very nose; and in the gloaming your ears will be charmed 
by a chorus of many songsters, led by that melodious vocalist the 
hermit thrush. And yet there are people who say there is no life 
in an American forest ! 

In moose-hunting, the services of a trustworthy Indian guide are 
indispensable, not only to insure success, but for the sake of comfort. 
These Indians are masters of wood-craft, and can start a fire in the 
heaviest rain or snow storm; they are also expert ax-men, and fur- 
nish an abundant supply of dry fire-wood, and keep up such a roar- 
ing fire in front of the comfortable bark-covered camp, that the cold 
is seldom felt, even when camping out in winter on the snow. The 
writer has been fortunate in having had on his hunting expeditions 
the services of Sebatis, a member of the tribe of Passamaquoddy 
Indians, who, unlike their savage brethren of the plains, are a peace- 
ful and interesting people, and live quietly on their reservations at 

IIA 


166 Moose-Flunting. 


Pleasant Point, near Eastport, Maine. The Passamaquoddies re- 
ceive subsidy from the United States and Canadian governments, 
and they and the Penobscot Indians have each a representative of 
their own race in the Maine legislature. 

My tried friend and companion of many a hunt, Sebatis, is a 
thoroughbred Indian of Mohawk descent, and an accomplished 
hunter. His wonderful knowledge of the woods, and of the habits 
of animals and birds, gained in a life-long experience, is seldom 


MOOSE-BIRDS. 


equaled, and he delights to impart his knowledge, and can readily 
give the Indian names for, and relate the habits of, any animal or 
bird inquired about. He is also an excellent story-teller, and as he 
is a model of sobriety, one never apprehends that his interesting 
yarns and hair-breadth ’scapes are merely the voluble flow of ‘after 
dinner talk.” 

He has frequently drawn my attention to the curious fact that we 
invariably met large numbers of moose-birds when we happened to 
be in a moose country. The moose is infested by a tick, which his 


Moose -Hunting. 167 


friend, the moose-bird, is very happy 
to relieve him of. Sebatis states that 
the moose permits the bird to alight 
upon him for that purpose, and judg- 
ing from what | have seen of the 


tameness of the moose-bird, and the 
liberties that he takes with the vis- 
itors to the woods, I can readily 
believe it. Moreover, the moose- 
bird is a carrion bird, and perhaps, 
on the advent of hunters, ‘‘smelleth 
the battle afar off.” 

A few years since, in the month of 
October, on returning from grouse- 
hunting I was belated, and, darkness 
overtaking me, I accepted the invita- 
tion of my friend Sebatis to spend the ie 
night at his wigwam.  Sebatis in his / 
rambles had discovered the trail and | 

| 


=|} 


sign of a large moose, and proposed 
that I should join him in beating up 
: JAY AND CEDAR BIRDS. 
his quarters next day. 
In the morning, I sent into the village for my rifle and a supply 
of provisions, on the receipt of which we enlisted the services of 
Swarsin, a brother of Sebatis, and boarded the latter's canoe in the 


lake where he had left it the previous evening. We paddled three 


168 Moose -Flunting. 


A MOOSE-HUNTER’S CAMP. 


miles up the western side of the lake, then portaged two miles to 
another lake, where we intended to establish our head-quarters. On 
our way, we started several coveys of ruffed grouse, and twice had a 


Moose -Fflunting. 169 


chance to shoot deer, but Sebatis forbade molesting them, for fear 
we might thereby alarm the moose. 

The next day we were early astir, and Sebatis started off alone to 
reconnoiter. In about an hour he returned and told me, in a mys- 
terious manner, that he had found signs of two moose, one of which 


was a very large one,—and that he knew him very well. Upon my 
asking for an explanation of such a strange statement, Sebatis said: 
find 


sign very big moose. You see I can tell must be pretty big moose, 


‘““More’n two years ago I hunt these mount’ins with Lola 


‘cause he peel bark so high on trees; never all my life see moose peel 
‘em bark so high.” 

“Well, Sebatis,” I said, “I suppose the sooner we get on his trail 
the better?” 

““Sartin, start now, take two days’ provisions; big moose very 
strong, may be travel long ways before we kill ’em.” 

“Not come camp again to-night?” inquired Swarsin, who looked 
after his comfort. 

“No,” replied Sebatis; ‘“‘may be never see camp again. I think 
big moose devil.” 

Swarsin was lazy and very superstitious, consequently the allusion 
to his satanic majesty did not hasten matters in packing for the hunt, 
and I imagine that he did not relish the prospect of a two-days’ 
tramp after an animal with such a questionable reputation, for he was 
longer than usual in getting the things together. 

“Swarsin just like old woman, so slow,” said Sebatis. ‘ Best 
leave ‘im take care camp, shoot ’em chipmunks an’ rabbits.” 

This hastened Swarsin, and in a few moments we were off. 

Sebatis led the way, which was anything but a pleasant one, for 
at the start we had to cross a wide bog, and great care was required 
in placing one’s feet, as a misstep let one into the waist in the oozy 
mire. On the farther side of the bog a rapid brook flowed at the foot 
of a hard-wood ridge. By jumping from bowlder to bowlder we all, 
as I supposed, reached the other side in safety, but on looking back 
I saw Swarsin hesitating on the last jump, which was a pretty stiffish 
one. In such a case to hesitate is to precipitate a disaster, which 
proved true in poor Swarsin’s case, as he jumped short of the bank, 
and in an instant the quick water swirled him past. In a few 
moments he rejoined us, much crest-fallen. 


170 Moose - Hunting. 


“T make mistake this mornin’ when I call Swarsin ole woman ; 
Swarsin musquash [muskrat], like’m water pretty well,” said Sebatis. 
Being in close proximity to the moose-sign discovered by Sebatis 
in the morning, we had to proceed with extreme caution so as not to 
make the slightest noise, and at the same time keep to the leeward 
of the moose. We had just gained the cover of a maple forest when 
Sebatis halted abruptly, and, pointing to a newly peeled maple, said: 

“Fresh sign; moose peel ’em this mornin’.” 

And then commenced one of those wonderful exhibitions of skill 
on the part of the Indians, which is ever a matter of surprise and 
admiration to the white hunter: this sure and confident tracking of 
an unseen animal, through pathless forests, swamps and bogs, now 
stopping to examine a broken twig or a half obliterated foot-print in 
the yielding moss, or to note something utterly beyond the ken of 
a white man, such as the disturbance of the water in some blackish 
pool, or the displacement of objects which would escape the observa- 
tion of any one but an Indian. 

After tramping on in silence for nearly an hour, | ventured to ask 
Sebatis how much start the moose had. 

‘“Moose little more ’n hour ahead, walking pretty fast; may be 
lay down by-em-by, then we find ’im.” 

The country through which we were passing was covered with an 
unbroken forest of deciduous trees, among which the maple predom- 
inated. The brisk October air was just tempered enough to render 
walking enjoyable, and the hazy sun of a late Indian summer lighted 
up the forest with a peculiar, dreamy, golden glow. 

As we penetrated deeper into the forest, the trees took on larger 
forms, and here and there giant pines in groups of two and three 
darkened our way. 

“You keep ’im same course; Swarsin an’ me go hunt fresh sign 
somewhere,” said Sebatis, rousing me out of a reverie, and stalking 
off in ghostly silence, Swarsin following him like his shadow, and as 
noiseless. 

As directed, I kept my course and tramped onward, the forest 
increasing in density and gloom as I advanced. I had probably 
traveled a mile or more, when I approached a dark group of pines, 
in the center of which rose something gray and weather-stained, 
having the appearance of an abandoned habitation. As I stood looking 


Moose-Hunting. 171 


THE DARKENING PINES. 


on in surprise, | made it out to be the old and long-deserted works 
of some lumberers, or, mayhap, a block-house of the olden time. 
The walls, built of huge logs, had originally risen to a height of two 
stories, but the roof had been crushed in by a tree which had fallen 
across it, and many of the logs had dropped out of place. Out of 
the middle, several good-sized trees were growing, proving that it 
was a structure of some antiquity. All the surroundings were moss- 


grown, and a peculiar gray light pervaded the place,—an air of un- 


172 Moose -flunting. 


substantiality which produced a curious, bewildering effect. In fact, 
the whole affair had such an uncanny look, that I should not have 
been surprised to detect the sinister face of ‘Le Renard Subtil” peer- 
ing at me from behind a cover; and as | turned to resume my way, 
I had quite made up my mind to encounter the grim visage of ‘ Le 
Gros Serpent,” and was agreeably surprised to find my trusty Sebatis 
watching me intently. 


THE OLD BLOC Ouse: 

“What you call ’im?” 

“T think that it is a deserted lumberers’ camp, or perhaps an old 
block-house.” 

“You watch ‘im little while, then all gone, can’t see notin’ ’t all; 
plenty ghosts here ; best come away.” 

“Did you ever see it before?” 

“No, never see ‘im ’t all, only just now; bad luck top here; ghosts 
come by-em-by.” 

Yielding to his importunities, we walked away. Sebatis, in com- 
mon with all of his race, was very superstitious, and all attempts 


Moose-Hunting. ty) 


to convince him of the folly of entertaining such thoughts were un- 
availing. He still held that it had no existence in fact, and was merely 
a device of the evil one. It really seemed as if he wished to avoid 
discussion, so I let the subject drop. 

We were now rejoined by Swarsin, who had followed the moose 
track to the edge of a swamp. 

When sojourning in the woods, you have only to express a wish 
for a nice cool spring, and your fdus Achates, if he be an Indian, 
seldom fails to find one. In the present instance there was one at 
hand, as usual. We halted long enough to lunch and to smoke a 
pipe, and then were off again on the trail of the moose. 

We now changed our tactics. Sebatis, having appointed a ren- 
dezvous at the outlet of a small lake, went off alone, while Swarsin 
and I tramped over to the swamp to try our luck there. Deftly pick- 
ing up the sign, Swarsin led me through the treacherous bog, where 
I sometimes broke in to my knees, and considered myself lucky even 
in getting off so fortunately as that. After half an hour of this, | was 
overjoyed to find that the moose had taken to the forest again. How- 
ever, my joy was short-lived, for soon we were again on descending 
ground interspersed with swamps and bogs,—a most detestable 
country to travel in, but fortunately, at this time of year, clear of those 
torments, black-flies and mosquitoes. 

“Two moose track here,” said Swarsin. ‘‘ What best do now?” 

‘Keep on till we meet Sebatis.” 

“T see ‘im Sebatis track little ways back. One moose turn back ; 
Sebatis follow that one.” 

‘ Well, I suppose we had better keep on after the other moose.” 

“No; Sebatis break branches he want us follow same way.” 

‘How do you know he broke the branches? Perhaps the moose 
was browsing on them.” 

“T can tell pretty quick. Sebatis break ‘im; always moose bite 

im.” 
Submitting to his superior wood-craft, I told him to lead the way. 
This time the moose led us over bowlder-strewn hills, with here 
and there a windfall thrown in. Now, in a country like this, the 
moose has much the advantage of the hunter, his long legs enabling 
him to clear obstacles which cause the hunters to pause now and then 
to regain their wind. 


174 Moose -flunting. 


We were just clambering over a ledge of rocks on the hill-side 
when Swarsin said : 

“Best get gun ready; moose only little ways ’head now!” 

The words were hardly spoken, when the booming report of 
Sebatis’s smooth-bore echoed through the woods, and the blue 
smoke from the discharge, floating up through the trees, pointed 
our way. 

Sebatis did not seem elated with his success, though the animal 
he had killed was a full-grown cow-moose. 

‘Lost big moose again,” he said. ‘I follow this one, think big 
moose all time.” 

‘“How did you get mistaken ?” 

“T don’t get ’staken ’t all,—find plenty sign two moose,— follow 
track bigges’ one,— by-em-by lost track — don’t see not’in’.” 

‘Where did you lose the track ?” 

‘Jus’ little ways this side big barren, small lake handy, | think 
go on water — hide somewhere. You see, always moose like water 
pretty well; in summer time, when flies bad, moose get right under 
water jus’ like porp’us, jus’ leave nose out, then nobody can’t see 
am) tall? 

‘How did you happen on the track of the cow-moose ?” 

“Well, you see, when I los’ sign bull-moose, I go hunt im some- 
where, then I find sign cow-moose.” 

‘Do you think the big bull was in company with the cow-moose ? 
Isn’t the season almost too late ?” 

‘No, not too late yet. I think jus’ what you think,—may be 
bull come again by-em-by, then good chance call ‘im to-night.” 

‘What goin’ to do with moose, Sebatis ?” said Swarsin. 

‘Butcher ’im, then put ’im in camp,—camp handy, ’bout half 
mile.” 

The Indians, with a dexterity acquired by long practice, skinned 
the moose, cut up the carcass, and packed it into camp. 

‘‘ Now,” said Sebatis, ‘I go hunt chance call bull-moose to-night ; 
Swarsin, he stay camp an’ get wood an’ make fire, by-em-by we have 
pretty good supper.” 

Sebatis was not long absent; on his return, he sat down in a taci- 
turn mood to the supper which Swarsin had cooked. 

Much as I have been in the society of Indians, | have never got 


Moose-Hlunting. « 175 


accustomed to their abrupt way of speaking ; the tone is neither harsh 
nor loud, but the utterance is so curt and sententious, that one is 
always startled and taken unawares, and this is more especially the 
case when on the trail. Around the camp-fire, their finely modulated 
voices are very musical and capable of wonderful expression. As we 
lay off, enjoying our pipes after supper, I asked Sebatis to tell me 
what he knew of the bull-moose. 

“Well,” he said, “I tell you all ‘bout it. You see, more 'n two 
years ago, me an’ Lola hunt moose these mountins. One day we 
find sign very large moose; hunt ’im all day, moose travel so fast we 
can’t come up with him ’t all; by-em-by night come, then camp some- 
where; nex’ day we follow track till bout sundown, then I find sign 
close on brook, then sign lost, can’t find ‘im anywhere, just same | 
lost ’im to-day. Then Lola an’ me walk in brook, try find where 
moose take land again. Well, Lola, he follow brook up-stream. I 
go down, don’t find sign anywhere; by-em-by come on lake, then I 
see moose swimmin’ ‘most cross lake, only see little piece horn stickin’ 
up, swim so deep, you see, try hide; then I go ’round lake, creep jus’ 
like wildcat, don’t make no noise ’t all, try cut ’im off, you see. Well, 
by-em-by get pretty tired creepin’, then lift up my head look some- 
where, an’ by tunders! I see moose layin’ down handy; then I say I 
got old bull-moose this time. Jus’ when I put on cap my gun I hear 
moose jump, then I fire; well, spose you don’t ‘lieve me, when I come 
on place, no moose there, then scared pretty bad; sartin I think mus’ 
be devil. Well, you see, I don’t like give ‘im up that way, so I load 
gun an’ go hunt ‘im sign again somewhere. By-em-by I find sign 
again jus’ on other side big windfall; well, I stan’ there lookin’ roun’, 
an’ by tunders! I hear a gun fire, an’ then I see Lola stan’ there 
‘longside young t'ree-year-old bull-moose. I ask Lola where he 
start that moose. Well, you see, when I leave Lola on brook he go 
up-stream, then by-em-by see moose sign, then he go hunt ’im, you 
see, an’ kill ‘im jus’ when I meet ‘im. By tunder! that’s very 
crur'us; I can’t ’stand it ’t all. Then Lola an’ me look everywhere, 
don’t find no sign that big bull-moose; so we have give ‘im up 
an’ go home. By tunders! I never know anythin’ so crur’us all 
my life.” 

“Don’t you suppose that you got confused in some way, and that 
the bull-moose you saw in the lake did not take ground again, and 


176 Moose -Flunting. 


fooled you, and that the young bull shot by Lola was the one that 
you saw and fired at?” 

“Sartin I don’t get ‘fused ’t all, that not same one. I tell you why; 
you see, I don’t make no ’stake, ‘cause I see that big moose layin’ 
down jus’ plain I see you now; ’sides I see horns, bigges’ horns I ever 
see all my life.” 

“T guess Sebatis pretty tired that time, fall ’sleep, then dreamin’, 
you see, don’t see no moose ’t all,” said Swarsin. 

“Don’t mind what that Swarsin say, he don’t know nothin’, no 
more 'n woodchuck; what I tell you all true, every word.” 

“Well,” said I, ‘ Sebatis, if the big moose we hunted to-day is, 
as you suppose, the same one that you have just been telling about, 
and we are lucky in calling to-night, and manage to bag him, I 
suppose your mind will be at rest?” 

“Sartin, you can’t put ‘im that moose in bag, too big; but ’spose 
we kill ‘im, then I know ’taint devil ’t all, only mighty cunnin’ ole 
bull-moose, that’s all.” 

“Sebatis pretty good hand tell story,” said Swarsin. ‘S’pose 
he tell all bout bear-hunt, when he get his arm ’most tore off.” 

‘“Sartin that’s true, get my arm ‘most tore off sure enough,” 
said Sebatis, as he rolled up his coat-sleeve, and exhibited several 
frightful scars on his left arm. 

‘How did that happen, Sebatis?” I inquired. 

‘Well, you see, happen good many years ago, used to be old 
times, Injins campin’ out all winter, hunt, trap, everythin’. One 
winter two or three camps on McDougal Lake, so you see I start 
one mornin’ look at my, traps. Well, I jus’ walkin’ ‘long, don’t have 
no gun, no knife, not’in’ but small little kind of hatchet, that’s all; 
by-em-by I see pretty big old she-bear walkin’ on snow, comin’ right 
up to me; I little scared first, you see don’ have no gun, no knife, 
notin’ but that small little kind of hatchet, so I think pretty poor 
chance kill bear. Well, not much time thinkin’, for old bear come 
walkin’ ‘long pretty quick, when he got ’most up where I stan’in’ then 
get right up on his hin’ legs jus’ like man an’ look at me, then I don't 
move ’t all, jus’ look at bear, that’s all; by-em-by that bear get down 
again an’ go ’way walkin’ very slow, then you see, I think best try 
kill im, so I chase ’m; then you see that bear stop again an’ jus’ 
gettin’ up on his hin’ legs, when I strike ’m all my might right on his 


Moose -flunting. Wve 


RETURNING FROM THE HUNT. 


head with that small little kind of hatchet, s’pose hit 'im fair, sartin 
kill’im; but, you see, bear very quick. When he see me try strike ‘im, 
he jus’ dodge little bit, an’ on’y handle strike ‘im an’ broke short off. 
and that small little kind of hatchet fall off on snow somewhere. 
Then I feel pretty bad, you see, bear gettin’ cross an’ take right 
hold my arm an’ bite savage; then, you see, I get pretty cross, too, so 
I take bear right on his t'roat both my han’s an’ choke ’im bad; then, 
you see, he don’t like it ’t all, begin to cry, an’ 1 see tears come on 
his face, then I choke ’im all my might, you see; then he bite so 
savage I ’most drop. Well, I don’t know what goin’ happen next; 
when he stop bitin’ so hard, then I stop choke ’im jus’ a little, 
you see; then by-em-by he let go my arm altoget’er, then I let 
go his t'roat, an’ he drop right on snow again an’ walk off slow, 
then I walk off slow nother way, you see. Well, by tunders! 
my arm pain pretty bad, blood soaked all on my coat everywhere ; 
then I go on camp pretty quick. Well, you see, nobody on that 
camp ony myself, all ‘lone, so | fix my arm best way I can, an’ 
put on balsam. Nex’ mornin’, | take my gun an’ knife, an start 
get that bear. By-em-by, I strike sign an’ follow “bout mile, then 
I fin’ den. When I look in I can’t see not’in’’t all, then light match 
an’ see two little cubs, very small, jus’ like small little dog; then I 
think best go hunt old bear, an’ come back an’ get cubs. Well, little 


M2 


178 Moose -Flunting. 


ways off I fin’ sign old bear gone off somewhere’s again, so | follow 
pretty quick, an’ by-em-by see old bear walkin’ on snow, an’ I go up 
pretty close, an’ jus’ when he rise up again on hind legs I fire, kill 
‘im dead first shot, then my arm feel ‘most well again, then I go get 
cubs; well, you see, when I fin’ den again cubs all gone, on’y some 
little bits fur an’ blood, that’s all.” 

‘What killed the cubs?” I inquired. 

‘Well, you see, nobody don’t kill em ’t all, po-kumpk been there 
eat ’em all up.” 

‘Who on earth is fo-kumpk ?” 

“ Po-kumpk ? that's black cat, you know; some people call ’em 
fishers.” 

“That's a very good story, Sebatis,” I remarked, by way of 
compliment. 

‘No, that’s not good story ’t all, that’s true. My arm don't get 
well again most six months.” 

The moon was now visible, and I asked Sebatis when he would 
try to call the moose. 

‘Pretty soon,” he replied. “I go somewhere now try find birch 
bark make moose-call; you an’ Swarsin take guns, an’ go down on 
barren handy on lake, by-em-by I come.” 

Obeying the directions of Sebatis, Swarsin and I tramped down 
to the edge of the barren and took up a position in the dense shadow 
of some tall ferns. There was not a breath of air stirring, and the 
moon was partially obscured by watery-looking clouds that threatened 
ere long to treat us to a wetting. As we sat waiting for Sebatis, the 
silence was oppressive; presently, the monotony was relieved by 
the occasional hooting of an owl, that after a time became almost 
continuous. 

“That owl keeps up an awful row,” I said to Swarsin. 

“That aint owl ’t all, that Sebatis; may be he wants us come 
somewhere.” 

“Wont we make too much noise, groping our way in the dark ?” 

‘Hist! that’s cow-moose,” he said, as a wailing cry floated through 
the air. 

I shrewdly suspected the cow-moose to be none other than our 
friend Sebatis, with his trumpet of birch bark, and in a few moments 
was convinced of the fact, for from far away in the distance came the 
answering call of a bull-moose. 


Moose -flunting. 179 


“Now, then,” said Swarsin, “we try find Sebatis; you follow me 
creepin’,, then we don’t make no noise ’t all.” 

Just then the hoot of the owl was repeated, and Swarsin crept on 
with hastened speed. I followed as best I could, and was getting 
pretty tired of my bargain, when the call of a bull-moose—this time 
much nearer—echoed through the woods. 

‘“‘Bull-moose come by-em-by,” said Swarsin; ‘we best keep still 
now.” 

“How about Sebatis? Isn't he waiting for us?” 

“‘Sebatis here,” replied that worthy, who had joined us so silently 
as to escape my notice. 

“What is the matter with the moose?” I whispered to Sebatis. 
“Isn't he coming very slowly ?” 

“Well, I tell you,” said Sebatis; ‘ you see, that moose either devil, 
else he know so much we can’t cheat ‘im easy. When I first try ’im 
he answer kind of frightened, don’t smash ‘round ’t all an’ make big 
noise. Mos’ bull-moose, when he hear cow, get kind of jealous, you 
see, an’ begin roar an’ smash ’roun’, an’ knock his horns on trees, try 
make big noise, you see, an’ scare off some other bull may be. Now 
I try ‘im again.” 

And once more the marvelous imitation of the cry of the cow- 
moose, in plaintive and gentle cadence, floated through the air. 

I should have been extremely disappointed if this last masterly 
performance of Sebatis’s had failed to elicit a response. For a time, 
I thought that it had failed, when I was startled by hearing the angry 
challenge of a bull, close at hand. 

‘Sartin I cheat bull-moose that time,” chuckled Sebatis! ‘He’s 
comin’ now, best have gun ready.” 

For a few moments we listened intently, with our ears on the 
alert for the slightest sound. 

‘“Sebatis,” I whispered, ‘Tm afraid he wont come.” 

“You jus’ keep quiet little while, you see I know all ‘bout it; 
that very wise ole bull, he been fooled good many times, you see; 
that make ‘im pretty scarey — by-em-by— s’pose all quiet, I try ‘Im 
gain.” 

‘“Has he gone back from us since you called the last time ?” 

‘No, he’s comin’ all time; but, you see, he try ’roun’ every way 
first, try an’ get our wind; s’pose he don’t get on lee side, we have 
‘im sure.” 


180 Moose -flunting. 


“ How is it we don’t hear him?” 

‘Always moose when scared come slow; very careful, you see, 
don’t step on branches, not’in’, make no noise ’t all, and keep listenin’ 
all time, you see; that take ‘im long time gettin’ here.” 

Again the counterfeit presentment, this time louder than before, 
echoed through the forest. As it died away, our ears detected a 
slight crash in the woods, instantly followed by a soft note from a 
bull-moose, to which Sebatis replied, then all was silent. 

“Look,” said Sebatis in a low tone, ‘‘bull-moose comin’, you see 
big black somethin’ on barren this side lake, that’s him, Now, when 
you see ‘im clear, make good shot.” 

Although I strained my eyes in trying to discern the moose, it 
was some time before I could make him out, and then not in a way 
to insure a satisfactory shot. Reaching out my hand, I touched 
Sebatis, who took the hint, and in a low, modulated tone again gave 
the call. 

This time, without replying, the bull-moose moved cautiously for- 
ward, evidently very uneasy and anxious. His great body was now 
plainly visible in full relief against the shimmering lake, and as it 
was not likely that I would get a better chance I fired. There was 
a crash, and as the smoke cleared away I saw the moose struggling 
to his feet again, when Sebatis put in a well directed shot and ended 
the scene. 

“By tunders!” exclaimed Sebatis, as he gazed on the huge pro- 
portions of the fallen moose, “that bigges’ moose I ever see all my 
life; no wonder I tink devil, so cunnin’, you see. One time to-night 
I tink not much chance kill that moose.” 

“You still think that it is the moose that fooled you so often ?” 

“Sartin, that same moose; I know ‘im, you see, ’cause horns so 
broad, ’most five feet ’cross on top.” 

The measurements and weight of this noble specimen have been 
stated in another part of this paper, and the magnificent antlers are 
now in the possession of the writer. 

Charlotte County, New Brunswick, the scene of our hunt, was at 
one time a place much frequented by Indians, and various interesting 
relics of their former occupation of the country have been from time 
to time discovered. On the portage road at St. George, stone pipes, 
chisels, tomahawks, etc., etc., have frequently been turned up, and a 


Moose -FHunting. 181 


few years since an object of much ethnological interest was found, in 
the shape of a stone medallion having the full-sized head of an Indian 
sculptured upon it. This stone is now in the collection of the Natural 
History Society at St. John, New Brunswick. On one of the mount- 
ains on Lake Utopia there was at one time a curious structure 
resembling an altar, and built with large slabs of granite. Recently 
some vandals, in order to gratify an idiotic whim, tumbled the largest 
block down the hill-side and into the lake. 

The glory of the noble forest where we hunted the devil-moose 
has departed, and all is now blackened stumps and ashes where once 
the green canopy seemed boundless. Sometimes a heavy gale, such 
as the Saxby in 1869, prostrates the trees, or the insatiable lumber- 
men cut them down, and then in summer-time, when everything is as 
dry as tinder, a party of hunters or anglers are careless of their fire, 
and soon the country is in a blaze for miles. This drives the moose 
and caribou away from their ancient haunts, and they seldom return. 
With a little precaution, all of this might be prevented, and the 
trouble of restocking our rivers with salmon, trying to re-introduce 
the game, and all the rest of it, might be avoided. 

Nowadays, when I take a holiday with Sebatis, we occasionally 
make a long hunt in search of moose or caribou, but in general have 
to content ourselves with a deer, the ruffed grouse, ducks, and hares 
of the country, and the glorious brook-trout which fill the innumer- 
able lakes in Charlotte County,—single specimens often reaching the 
weight of seven pounds. 


MOOSE-HUNTING IN CANADA-+* 


IBsy IRIBh I, VS, AUIR IL, (©) le Pails id 


CS 


OOSE-HUNTING, if it has no other advantages, at least 
leads a man to solitude and the woods, and life in the 
woods tends to develop maay excellent qualities which are 

not invariably produced by what we are pleased to call our civil- 
ization. It makes a man patient and able to bear constant disap- 
pointments; it enables him to endure hardships with indifference, 
and it produces a feeling of self-reliance which is both pleasant and 
serviceable. True luxury, to my mind, is only to be found in such a 
life. No man who has not experienced it knows what an exhilarat- 
ing feeling it is to be entirely independent of weather, comparatively 
indifferent to hunger, thirst, cold, and heat, and to feel himself capa- 
ble, not only of supporting, but of enjoying life thoroughly, and that 
by the mere exercise of his own faculties. Happiness consists in 
having few wants and being able to satisfy them, and there is more 
real comfort to be found in a birch-bark camp than in the most 
luxuriously furnished and carefully appointed dwelling. 

Such a home I have often helped to make. It does not belong 
to any recognized order of architecture, although it may fairly claim 
an ancient origin. To erect it requires no great exercise of skill, 
and calls for no training in art schools. I will briefly describe it. 

A birch-bark camp is made in many ways. The best plan is to 
build it in the form of a square, varying in size according to the 
number of inhabitants that you propose to accommodate. Having 
selected a suitable level spot and cleared away the shrubs and rub- 


* Reprinted, by permission, from “ The Nineteenth Century.” 


Moose-flunting in Canada. 183 


bish, you proceed to make four low walls composed of two or three 
small suitable-sized pine logs laid one on the other, and on these 
little low walls so constructed you raise the frame-work of the camp. 
This consists of light thin poles, the lower ends being stuck into the 
upper surface of the pine trees which form the walls, and the upper 
ends leaning against and supporting each other. The next operation 
is to strip large sheets of bark off the birch trees, and thatch 
these poles with them to within a foot or two of the top, leaving a 
sufficient aperture for the smoke to escape. Other poles are then 
laid upon the sheets of birch-bark to keep them in their places. A 
small door-way is left in one side, and a door is constructed out of 
slabs of wood, or out of the skin of some animal. The uppermost 
log is hewn through with an ax, so that the wall shall not be incon- 
veniently high to step over, and the hut is finished. Such a camp is 
perfectly impervious to wind or weather, or, rather, can be made so 
by filling up the joints and cracks between the sheets of birch-bark 
and the interstices between the pine logs with moss and dry leaves. 
You next level off the ground inside, and on three sides of the square 
strew it thickly with the small tops of the s@fzz, or Canada balsam 
fir, for a breadth of about four feet; then take some long pliant ash 
saplings or withy rods, and peg them down along the edge of the 
pine tops to keep your bed or carpet in its place, leaving a bare 
space in the center of the hut, where you make your fire. Two or 
three rough slabs of pine, to act as shelves, must then be fixed into 
the wall, a couple of portage-straps, or tump-lines stretched across, 
on which to hang your clothes, and the habitation is complete. 

I ought, perhaps, to explain what a “portage-strap” and a 
“portage” are. Many French and Spanish words have become 
incorporated with the English language in America. The Western 
cattle-man, or farmer, speaks of his farm or house as his “ ranche,” 
calls the inclosure into which he drives his stock a “corral,” fastens 
his horse with a “lariat,” digs an ‘“acequia” to irrigate his land, gets 
lost in the ‘“chapparal,” instead of the bush, and uses commonly 
many other Spanish words and expressions. No hunter or trapper 
talks of hiding anything; he ‘‘caches” it, and he calls the place 
where he has stowed away a little store of powder, flour, or some of 
the other necessaries of life, a ‘‘ cache.” The French word ‘‘prairie,” 
as everybody knows, has become part and parcel of the English lan- 


184 Moose-Hunting in Canada. 


guage. Indians and half-breeds, who never heard French spoken in 
their lives, greet each other at meeting and parting with the saluta- 
tion “bo jour” and “adieu.” And so the word “ portage” has come 
to be generally used to denote the piece of dry land separating two 
rivers or lakes over which it is necessary to carry canoes and bag- 
gage when traveling through the country in summer. Sometimes it 
is literally translated and called a “carry.” Another French word, 
“traverse,” is frequently used in canoeing, to signify a large unshel- 
tered piece of water which it is necessary to cross. A deeply laden 
birch-bark canoe will not stand a great deal of sea, and quite a heavy 
sea gets up very rapidly on large fresh-water lakes, so that a long 
“traverse” is a somewhat formidable matter. You may want to 
cross a lake, say five or six miles in width, but of such a size that it 
would take you a couple of days to coast all round. That open 
stretch of five or six miles would be called a “ traverse.” 

The number and length of the portages on any canoe route, and 
the kind of trail that leads over them, are important matters to con- 
sider in canoe traveling. A man, in giving information about any 
journey, will enter into most minute particulars about them. He will 
say, ‘‘You go up such-and-such a river,” and he will tell you all 
about it—where there are strong rapids, where it is very shallow, 
where there are deep still reaches in which the paddle can be used, and 
where you must pole, and so forth. Then he will tell you how you 
come to some violent rapid or fall that necessitates a “ portage,” and 
explain exactly how to strike into the eddy, and shove your canoe 
into the bank ata certain place, and take her out there, and how 
long the ‘ portage” is ; whether there is a good trail, or a bad trail, 
or no trail at all; and so on with every “portage” on the route. 
Carrying canoes and baggage across the ‘‘ portage” is arduous 
work. A birch-bark canoe must be treated delicately, for it is a very 
fragile creature. You allow it to ground very carefully, step out 
into the water, take out all the bales, boxes, pots, pans, bedding, 
rifles, etc., lift up the canoe bodily, and turn her upside down for a 
few minutes to drain the water out. The Indian then turns her over, 
grasps the middle thwart with both hands, and with a sudden twist of 
the wrists heaves her up in the air, and deposits her upside down on 
his shoulders, and walks off with his burden. An ordinary-sized Mic- 
Mac or Melicite canoe, such as one man can easily carry, weighs 


Moose-HHunting in Canada. 185 


about seventy or eighty pounds, and will take two men and about 
six hundred or seven hundred pounds. 

The zmpfedimenta are carried in this manner: A blanket, doubled 
to a suitable size, is laid upon the ground; you take your portage- 
strap, or tump-line, as it is sometimes called, which is composed of 
strips of webbing or some such material, and is about twelve feet 
long, a length of about two feet in the center being made of a piece 
of broad, soft leather; you lay your line on the blanket so that the 
leather part projects, and fold the edges of the blanket over either 
portion of the strap. You then pile up the articles to be carried in 
the center, double the blanket over them, and by hauling upon the 
two parts of the strap bring the blanket together at either side, so 
that nothing can fall out. You then cut a skewer of wood, stick it 
through the blanket in the center, securely knot the strap at either 
end, and your pack is made. You have a compact bundle, with the 
leather portion of the portage-strap projecting like a loop, which is 
passed over the head and shoulders, and the pack is carried on the 
back by means of the loop which passes across the chest. If the 
pack is very heavy, and the distance long, it is usual to make an ad- 
ditional band out of a handkerchief or something of that kind, to 
attach it to the bundle, and pass it across the forehead, so as to take 
some of the pressure off the chest. The regular weight of a Hud- 
son’s Bay Company’s package is eighty pounds; but any Indian or 
half-breed will carry double this weight for a considerable distance 
without distress. A tump-line, therefore, forms an essential part of 
the voyageur’s outfit when traveling, and it comes in handy, also, in 
camp asa clothes-line on which to hang one’s socks and moccasins 
to dry. 

A camp such as that I have attempted to describe is the best that 
can be built. An ordinary camp is constructed in the same way, but 
with this difference, that instead of being in the form of a square, it 
is in the shape of a circle, and the poles on which the bark is laid are 
stuck into the ground instead of into low walls. There is not half so 
much room in such a camp as in the former, although the amount of 
material employed is in both cases the same. It may be objected 
that the sleeping arrangements cannot be very luxurious in camp. 
A good bed is certainly an excellent thing, but it is very hard to find 
a better bed than Nature has provided in the wilderness. It would 


186 Moose-Hlunting in Canada. 


appear as if Providence had specially designed the Canada balsam 
fir for the purpose of making a soft couch for tired hunters. It is the 
only one, so far as I am aware, of the coniferous trees of North 
America in which the leaves or spicule lie perfectly flat. The con- 
sequence of that excellent arrangement is, that a bed made of the 
short, tender tips of the Canada balsam, spread evenly to the depth 
of about a foot, is one of the softest, most elastic, and most pleasant 
couches that can be imagined; and as the scent of the sap of the 
Canada balsam is absolutely delicious, it is always sweet and refresh- 
ing — which is more than can be said for many beds of civilization. 
Hunger is a good sauce. A man coming in tired and hungry 
will find more enjoyment in a piece of moose meat and a cup of tea 
than in the most luxurious of banquets. Moreover, it must be re- 
membered that some of the wild meats of North America cannot be 
excelled in flavor and delicacy; nothing, for instance, can be better 
than moose or caribou, mountain sheep or antelope. The “ moufle,” 
or nose of the moose, and his marrow-bones are dainties which would 
be highly appreciated by accomplished epicures. The meat is good, 
and no better method of cooking it has yet been discovered than the 
simple one of roasting it before a wood fire on a pointed stick. Sim- 
plicity is a great source of comfort, and makes up for many luxuries ; 
and nothing can be more simple, and at the same time more com- 
fortable, than life in such a birch-bark camp as I have attempted to 
describe. In summer-time, and in the fall, until the weather begins 
to get a little cold, a tent affords all the shelter that the sportsman 
or the tourist can require. But when the leaves are all fallen, when 
the lakes begin to freeze up, and snow covers the earth, or may be 
looked for at any moment, the nights become too cold to render 
dwelling in tents any longer desirable. A tent can be used in win- 
ter, and I have dwelt in one in extreme cold, when the thermometer 
went down as low as 32° below zero. It was rendered habitable by 
a little stove, which made it at the same time exceedingly disagree- 
able. A stove sufficiently small to be portable only contained wood 
enough to burn for an hour and a half or so; consequently, some 
one had to sit up all night to replenish it. Now, nobody could keep 
awake, and the result was that we had to pass through the unpleasant 
ordeal of alternately freezing and roasting during the whole night. 
The stove was of necessity composed of very thin sheet-iron, as light- 


Moose-Hlunting in Canada. 187 


ness was an important object, and consequently when it was filled 
with good birch-wood and well under way, it became red-hot, and 
rendered the atmosphere in the tent insupportable. In about half an 
hour or so it would cool down a little, and one would drop off to 
sleep, only to wake in about an hour’s time shivering, to find every- 
thing frozen solid in the tent, and the fire nearly out. Such a method 
of passing the night is little calculated to insure sound sleep. In the 
depth of winter it is quite impossible to warm a tent from the outside, 
however large the fire may be. It must be built at such a distance 
that the canvas cannot possibly catch fire, and hence all heat is dis- 
persed long before it can reach and warm the interior of the tent. 
It is far better to make a ‘“‘lean-to” of the canvas, build a large fire, 
and sleep out in the open. A ‘“lean-to” is easily made and scarcely 
needs description. The name explains itself. You strike two poles, 
having a fork at the upper end, into the ground, slanting back 
slightly ; lay another fir pole horizontally between the two, and rest- 
ing in the crutch; then place numerous poles and branches leaning 
against the horizontal pole, and thus form a frame-work which you 
cover in as well as you can with birch-bark, pine boughs, pieces of 
canvas, skins, or whatever material is most handy. You build an 
enormous fire in the front, and the camp is complete. A “lean-to” 
must always be constructed with reference to the direction of the 
wind; it serves to keep off the wind and a certain amount of snow 
and rain. In other respects it is, as the Irishman said of the sedan- 
chair with the bottom out, more for the honor and glory of the thing 
than anything else. For all practical purposes, you are decidedly 
out of doors. 

Although the scenery of the greater part of Canada cannot justly 
be described as grand or magnificent, yet there is a weird, melancholy, 
desolate beauty about her barrens, a soft loveliness in her lakes and 
forest glades in summer, a gorgeousness of color in her autumn 
woods, and a stern, sad stateliness when winter has draped them all 
with snow, that cannot be surpassed in any land. I remember, as 
distinctly as if I had left it but yesterday, the beauty of the camp 
from which I made my first successful expedition after moose last 
calling season. I had been out several times unsuccessfully, some- 
times getting no answer at all; at others, calling a bull close up, but 
failing to induce him to show himself; sometimes failing on account 


188 Moose-Hunting in Canada. 


of a breeze springing up, or of the night becoming too much over- 
cast and cloudy to enable me to see him. My companions had been 
equally unfortunate. We had spent the best fortnight of the season 
in this way, and had shifted our ground and tried everything in vain. 
At last, we decided on one more attempt, broke camp, loaded our 
canoes, and started. We made a journey of two days, traversing 
many lovely lakes, carrying over several portages, and arrived at our 
destination about three o’clock in the afternoon. We drew up our 
canoes at one of the prettiest spots for a camp I have ever seen. It 
lay beside a little sheltered, secluded bay at the head of a lovely lake, 
some three or four miles in length. The shores near us were 
covered with “ hard-wood” trees—birch, maple, and beech, in their 
glorious autumn colors; while the more distant coasts were clothed 
with a somber, dark mass of firs and spruce. Above the ordinary 
level of the forest rose at intervals the ragged, gaunt form of some 
ancient and gigantic pine that had escaped the notice of the lumber- 
man or had proved unworthy of his ax. In front of us, and to the 
right, acting as a breakwater to our harbor, lay a small island covered 
with hemlock and tamarack trees, the latter leaning over in various 
and most graceful angles, overhanging the water to such an extent 
as sometimes to be almost horizontal with it. Slightly to the left 
was a shallow spot in the lake marked by a growth of rushes, vividly 
green at the top, while the lower halves were of a most brilliant 
scarlet, affording the precise amount of warmth and bright color- 
ing that the picture required. It is extraordinary how everything 
seems to turn to brilliant colors in the autumn in these northern 
latitudes. The evening was perfectly still; the surface of the lake, 
unbroken by the smallest ripple, shone like a mirror and reflected 
the coast-line and trees so accurately, that it was impossible to tell 
where water ended and land began. 

The love of money and the love of sport are the passions that 
lead men into such scenes as these. The lumberman, the salmon- 
fisher, and the hunter in pursuit of large game, monopolize the 
beauties of nature in these Canadian wilds. The moose (Cervus 
Alces) and caribou (Cervus rangifer) are the’ principal large game 
to be found in Canada. The moose is by far the biggest of all ex- 
isting deer. He attains to a height of quite eighteen hands, and 
weighs about twelve hundred pounds or more. The moose of 


Moose-flunting tin Canada. 189 


America is almost, if not quite, identical with the elk of Europe, but 
it attains a greater size. The horns especially are much finer than 
those to be found on the elk in Russia, Prussia, or the Scandinavian 
countries. 

The moose has many advantages over other deer, but it suffers 
also from some terrible disadvantages, which make it an easy prey 
to its great and principal destroyer, man. Whereas among most, if 
not all, the members of the deer tribe, the female has but one fawn 
at a birth, the cow-moose generally drops two calves—which is much 
in favor of the race. The moose is blessed with an intensely acute 
sense of smell, with an almost equally acute sense of hearing, and it 
is exceedingly wary and difficult of approach. On the other hand, 
it is but little fitted to move in deep snow, owing to its great weight. 
Unlike the caribou, which has hoofs specially adapted for deep snow, 
the moose’s feet are small, compared with the great bulk of the ani- 
mal. If, therefore, it is once found and started when the snow lies 
deep upon the ground, its destruction is a matter of certainty; it 
breaks through the snow to solid earth at every step, becomes speed- 
ily exhausted, and falls an easy prey to men and dogs. Again, a 
large tract of land is necessary to supply food for even one moose. 
In summer, it feeds a good deal upon the stems and roots of water- 
lilies, but its staple food consists of the tender shoots of the moose- 
wood, ground-maple, alder, birch, poplar, and other deciduous trees. 
It is fond of ground-hemlock, and will also occasionally browse upon 
the sapzz, or Canada balsam fir, and even upon spruce, though that is 
very rare, and I have known them when hard pressed to gnaw bark 
off the trees. Nova Scotia and New Brunswick are nearly “ settled 
up.” More and more land is cleared and brought under cultivation 
every day; more and more forest cut down year by year; and the 
moose-supporting portion of the country is becoming very limited in 
extent. On the other hand, the moose is an animal which could 
easily be preserved if only reasonable laws could be enforced. It 
adapts itself wonderfully to civilization. A young moose will become 
as tame as a domestic cow in a short time. Moose become accus- 
tomed to the ordinary noises of a settled country with such facility, 
that they may sometimes be found feeding within a few hundred 
yards of aroad. A railway does not appear to disturb them at all. 
I have shot moose within sound of the barking of dogs and the cack- 


190 Moose-Hlunting in Canada. 


ling of geese of a farm-house, in places where the animals must have 
been constantly hearing men shouting, dogs barking, and all the 
noises of a settlement. Their sense of hearing is developed in a 
wonderful degree, and they appear to be possessed of some marvel- 
ous power of discriminating between innocent sounds and noises 
which indicate danger. Ona windy day, when the forest is full of 
noises,—trees cracking, branches snapping, and twigs breaking,— 
the moose will take no notice of all these natural sounds; but if a 
man breaks a twig, or, treading on a dry stick, snaps it on the 
ground, the moose will distinguish that sound from the hundred 
voices of the storm, and be off in a second. 

Why it is that the moose has developed no peculiarity with 
regard to his feet, adapting him especially to the country in which he 
dwells, while the caribou that shares the woods and barrens with him 
has done so in a remarkable degree, I will leave philosophers to 
decide. In the caribou, the hoofs are very broad and round, and 
split up very high, so that, when the animal treads upon the soft 
surface of the snow, the hoofs spreading out form a natural kind of 
snow-shoe and prevent its sinking deep. The frog becomes absorbed 
toward winter, so that the whole weight of the animal rests upon the 
hoof, the edges of which are as sharp as a knife, and give the animals 
so secure a foothold that they can run without fear or danger on the 
slippery surface of smooth glare ice. Now the moose, on the con- 
trary, is about as awkward on the ice as a shod horse, and will not 
venture out on the frozen surface of a lake if he can help it. His feet 
are rather small and pointed, and allow him to sink and flounder 
helplessly in the deep snows of midwinter and early spring. 

There are several ways in which the moose is hunted; some 
legitimate and some decidedly illegitimate. First of all there is 
moose-calling, which to my mind is the most interesting of all wood- 
land sports. It commences about the beginning of September, and 
lasts for about six weeks, and consists in imitating the cry of the 
female moose, and thereby calling up the male. This may sound 
easy enough to do, especially as the bull at this season of the year 
loses all his caution, or the greater part of it. But the pastime is 
surrounded by so many difficulties, that it is really the most pre- 
carious of all the methods of pursuing or endeavoring to outwit the 
moose; and it is at the same time the most exciting. I will endeavor 


Moose -flunting in Canada. 19! 


to describe the method by giving a slight sketch of the death of a 
moose in New Brunswick woods last year. 

It was early in October. We had pitched our tents—for at that 
season of the year the hunter dwells in tents—upon a beautiful 
hard-wood ridge, bright with the painted foliage of birch and maple. 
The weather had been bad for calling, and no one had gone out, 
though we knew there were moose in the neighborhood. We 
had cut a great store of firewood, gathered bushels of cranberries, 
dug a well in the swamp close by, and attended to the thousand and 
one little comforts that experience teaches one to provide in the 
woods, and had absolutely nothing to do. The day was intensely 
hot and sultry, and if any one had approached the camp about noon 
he would have deemed it deserted. All hands had hung their blankets 
over the tents, by way of protection from the sun, and had gone to 
sleep. About one o'clock I awoke, and sauntered out of the tent 
to stretch my limbs and take a look at the sky. I was particularly 
anxious about the weather, for I was tired of idleness, and had de- 
termined to go out if the evening offered a tolerably fair promise of 
a fine night. To get a better view of the heavens, I climbed to my 
accustomed look-out in a comfortable fork near the summit of a 
neighboring pine, and noted with disgust certain little black shreds 
of cloud rising slowly above the horizon. To aid my indecision I 
consulted my dear old friend, John Williams, the Indian, who, after 
the manner of his kind, stoutly refused to give any definite opinion 
on the subject. All that I could get out of him was, “ Well, dunno ; 
mebbe fine, mebbe wind get up; guess pretty calm, perhaps, in 
morning. Suppose we go and try, or, p’raps, mebbe wait till to- 
morrow.” Finally I decided to go out; for although, if there is the 
slightest wind, it is impossible to call, yet any wise and prudent man, 
unless there are unmistakable signs of a storm brewing, will take the 
chance: for the calling season is short and soon over. 

I have said that an absolutely calm night is required for calling, 
and for this reason: the moose is so wary, that, in coming up to the 
call, he will invariably make a circle down wind in order to get scent 
of the animal which is calling him. Therefore, if there is a breath 
of wind astir, the moose will get scent of the man before the man has 
a chance of seeing the moose. A calm night is the first thing neces- 
sary. Secondly, you must have a moonlight night. No moose will 


192 Moose-flunting in Canada. 


come up in the day-time. You can begin to call about an hour 
before sunset, and moose will answer up to say two hours after sunrise. 
There is very little time, therefore, unless there is bright moonlight. 
In the third place, | need scarcely observe that to call moose success- 
fully you must find a place near camp where there are moose to call, 
and where there are not only moose, but bull moose; not only bull 
moose, but bulls that have not already provided themselves with con- 
sorts; for if a real cow begins calling, the rough imitation in the 
shape of a man has a very poor chance of success, and may as well 
give it up as a bad job. Fourthly, you must find a spot that is con- 
venient for calling, that is to say, a piece of dry ground, for no hu- 
man being can lie out all night in the wet, particularly in the month 
of October, when it freezes hard toward morning. You must have 
dry ground, well sheltered with trees or shrubs of some kind, and a 
tolerably open space around it for some distance; open enough for 
you to see the bull coming up when he is yet at a little distance, but 
not a large extent of open ground, for no moose will venture out far 
on an entirely bare exposed plain. He is disinclined to leave the 
friendly shelter of the trees. A perfect spot, therefore, is not easily 
found. Such are some of the difficulties which attend moose-calling 
and render it a most precarious pastime. Four conditions are neces- 
sary, and all four must be combined at one and the same time. 
Having once determined to go out, preparations do not take 
long. You have only to roll up a blanket and overcoat, take some 
tea, sugar, salt, and biscuit, a kettle, two tin pannikins, and a small 
ax, with, | need scarcely say, rifle and ammunition. The outfit is 
simple; but the hunter should look to everything himself, for an 
Indian would leave his head behind if it were loose. A good thick 
blanket is very necessary, for moose-calling involves more hardship 
and more suffering from cold than any other branch of the noble 
science of hunting with which I am acquainted. It is true that the 
weather is not especially cold at that time of year, but there are 
sharp frosts occasionally at night, and the moose-caller cannot make 
a fire by which to warm himself, for the smell of smoke is carried a 
long way by the slightest current of air. Neither dare he run about 
to warm his feet, or flap his hands against his sides, or keep up 
the circulation by taking exercise of any kind, for fear of making 
a noise. He is sure to have got wet through with perspiration on 


Moose-Hunting wn Canada. 193 


his way to the calling place, which of course makes him more sensi- 
tive to cold. 
So I and the Indian shouldered our packs, and started for the 


barren, following an old logging road. Perhaps I ought to explain a 


oO 
> 


little what is meant by a “logging road” and a “barren.” A log- 
ging road is a path cut through the forest in winter, when the snow 
is on the ground and the lakes are frozen, along which the trunks of 
trees or logs are hauled by horses or oxen to the water. A logging 
road is a most pernicious thing. Never follow one if you are lost 
in the woods, for one end is sure to lead to a lake or a river, which 
is decidedly inconvenient until the ice has formed; and in the other 
direction it will seduce you deep into the inner recesses of the 
forest, and then come to a sudden termination at some moss-covered, 
decayed pine stump, which is discouraging. A “barren,” as the term 
indicates, is a piece of waste land; but, as all hunting grounds are 
waste, that definition would scarcely be sufficient to describe what 
a “barren” is. It means, in Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, an 
open marshy space in the forest, sometimes so soft as to be almost 
impassable; at other times composed of good solid hard peat. The 
surface is occasionally rough and tussocky, like a great deal of 
country in Scotland. 

In Newfoundland, there are barrens of many miles in extent, 
high, and, comparatively speaking, dry plateaus; but the barrens 
in the provinces I am speaking of vary from a little open space 
of a few acres to a plain of five or six miles in length or breadth. 
There has been a good deal of discussion as to the origin of these 
“barrens.” It appears to me that they must have been originally 
lakes, which have become dry by the gradual elevation of the land, 
and through the natural processes by which shallow waters become 
choked up and filled with vegetable débris. They have all the 
appearance of dry lakes. They are about the size of the numerous 
sheets of water that are so frequent in the country. The forest sur- 
rounds them completely, precisely in the same way as it does a lake, 
following all the lines and curvatures of the bays and indentations of 
its shores; and every elevated spot of dry, solid ground is covered 
with trees exactly as are the little islands that so thickly stud the sur- 
face of the Nova Scotian lakes. Most of the lakes in the country 
are shallow, and in many of them the process by which they become 


U3 


194 Moose-Hlunting in Canada. 


filled up can be seen at work. The ground rises considerably in the 
center of these barrens, which is, I believe, the case with all bogs 
and peat mosses. I have never measured any of their areas, neither 
have I attempted to estimate the extent of the curvature of the sur- 
face; but on a barren where | hunted last year, of about two miles 
across, the ground rose so much in the center that when standing at 
one edge we could see the upper half of the pine trees which grew 
at the other. The rise appeared to be quite gradual, and the effect 
was as if one stood on an exceedingly small globe, the natural curv- 
ature of which hid the opposite trees. 

To return to our calling. We got out upon the barren, or, rather, 
upon a deep bay or indentation of a large barren, about four o'clock 
in the afternoon, and made our way to a little wooded island, which 
afforded us shelter and dry ground, and which was within easy 
shot of one side of the bay, and so situated with regard to the other 
that a moose coming from that direction would not hesitate to 
approach it. The first thing to be done is to make a lair for 
oneself—a little bed. You pick out a nice sheltered soft spot, 
chop down a few sagzx branches with your knife, gather a quantity 
of dry grass or bracken, and make as comfortable a bed as the 
circumstances of the case will permit. 

Having made these little preparations, I sat down and smoked 
my pipe while the Indian climbed up a neighboring pine-tree to 
“call.” The only object of ascending a tree is that the sound may 
be carried further into the recesses of the forest. The instrument 
wherewith the caller endeavors to imitate the cry of the cow con- 
sists of a cone-shaped tube made out of a sheet of birch-bark rolled 
up. This horn is about eighteen inches in length and three or four 
in diameter at the broadest end, the narrow end being just large 
enough to fit the mouth. The “caller” uses it like a speaking- 
trumpet, groaning and roaring through it, imitating as well as he 
can the cry of the cow-moose. Few white men can call really well, 
but some Indians, by long practice, can imitate the animal with won- 
derful success. Fortunately, however, no two moose appear to have 
precisely the same voice, but make all kinds of strange and diabolical 
noises, so that even a novice in the art may not despair of himself call- 
ingupa bull. The real difficulty—the time when you require a perfect 
mastery of the art—is when the bull is close by, suspicious, and 


Moose-Hunting in Canada. 195 


listening with every fiber of its intensely accurate ear to detect any 
sound that may reveal the true nature of the animal he is approach- 
ing. The smallest hoarseness, the slightest wrong vibration, the 
least unnatural sound, will then prove fatal. The Indian will kneel on 
the ground, putting the broad end of the horn close to the earth, so 
as to deaden the sound, and, with an agonized expression of coun- 
tenance, will imitate with such marvelous fidelity the wailing, anxious, 
supplicating cry of the cow, that the bull, unable to resist, rushes out 
from the friendly cover of the trees, and exposes himself to death. 
Or it may be that the most accomplished caller fails to induce the sus- 
picious animal to show himself; the more ignoble passion of jealousy 
must then be aroused. The Indian will grunt like an enraged bull, 
break dead branches from the trees, thrash his birch-bark horn against 
the bushes, thus making a noise exactly like a moose fighting the 
bushes with his antlers. The bull cannot bear ¢he idea of a rival, 
and, casting his prudence to the winds, not unfrequently falls a victim 
to jealousy and rage. 

The hunter calls through his horn, first gently, in case there 
should be a bull very near. He then waits a quarter of an hour or 
so, and, if he gets no answer, calls again a little louder, waiting at 
least a quarter of an hour—or half an hour some Indians say is best 
—after each attempt. 

The cry of the cow is a long-drawn-out melancholy sound, im- 
possible to describe by words. The answer of the bull-moose, on 
the contrary, is a rather short guttural grunt, and resembles at a 
great distance the sound made by an ax chopping wood, or that 
which a man makes when pulling hard at a refractory clay-pipe. 
You continue calling at intervals until you hear an answer, when 
your tactics depend upon the way in which the animal acts. Great 
acuteness of the sense of hearing is necessary, because the bull will 
occasionally come up without answering at all; and the first indica- 
tion of his presence consists of the slight noise he makes in advanc- 
ing. Sometimes a bull will come up with the most extreme caution ; 
at others, he will come tearing up through the woods, as hard as he 
can go, making a noise like a steam-engine, and rushing through 
the forest apparently without the slightest fear. 

On the particular occasion which I am recalling, it was a most 
lovely evening. It wanted but about half an hour to sundown, and 


196 Moose-Hunting tn Canada. 


all was perfectly still. There was not the slightest sound of any- 
thing moving in the forest, except that of the unfrequent flight of a 
moose-bird close by. And so | sat watching that most glorious 
transformation scene—the change of day into night; saw the great 
sun sink slowly down behind the pine trees; saw the few clouds that 
hovered motionless above me blaze into the color of bright burnished 
gold; saw the whole atmosphere become glorious with a soft yellow 
light, gradually dying out as the night crept on, till only in the 
western sky there lingered a faint glow, fading into a pale cold 
apple-green, against which the pines stood out as black as midnight, 
and as sharply defined as though cut out of steel. As the darkness 
deepened, a young crescent moon shone out pale and clear, with a 
glittering star a little below the lower horn, and above her another 
star of lesser magnitude. It looked as though a supernatural jewel 
—a heavenly pendant, two great diamond solitaires, and a diamond 
crescent—were hanging in the western sky. After awhile, the 
moon, too, sank behind the trees, and darkness fell upon the earth. 

I know of nothing more enchanting than a perfectly calm and 
silent autumnal sunset in the woods, unless it be the sunrise, which, 
to my mind, is more lovely still. Sunset is beautiful, but sad; sun- 
rise is equally beautiful, and full of life, happiness, and hope. I love 
to watch the stars begin to fade, to see the first faint white light 
clear up the darkness of the eastern sky, and gradually deepen into 
the glorious coloring that heralds the approaching sun. I love to 
see Nature awake shuddering, as she always does, and arouse her- 
self into active, busy life; to note the insects, birds, and beasts shake 
off slumber and set about their daily tasks. 

Still, the sunset is inexpressibly lovely, and I do not envy the 
condition and frame of mind of a man who cannot be as nearly 
happy as man can be, when he is lying comfortably on a luxurious 
and soft couch, gazing in perfect peace on the glorious scene around 
him, rejoicing all his senses, and saturating himself with the wonder- 
ful beauties of a northern sunset. 

So I sat quietly below, while the Indian called from the tree-top. 
Not a sound answered to the three or four long-drawn-out notes with 
which he hoped to lure the bull. After a long interval he called again, 
but the same perfect, utter silence reigned in the woods, a silence 
broken only by the melancholy hooting of an owl, or the imaginary 


Moose-Hunting tn Canada. 197 


noises that filled my head. It is extraordinary how small noises 
become magnified when the ear is kept at a great tension for any 
length of time, and how the head becomes filled with all kinds of 
fictitious sounds; and it is very remarkable also how utterly impos- 
sible it is to distinguish between a loud noise uttered at a distance 
and a scarcely audible sound close by. After listening very in- 
tently amidst the profound silence of a quiet night in the forest for 
an hour or so, the head becomes so surcharged with blood, owing, | 
presume, to all the faculties being concentrated on a single sense, that 
one seems to hear distant voices, the ringing of bells, and all kinds 
of strange and impossible noises. A man becomes so: nervously 
alive to the slightest disturbance of the almost awful silence of a 
still night in the woods, that the faintest sound—the cracking of 
a minute twig, or the fall of a leaf, even at a great distance— will 
make him almost jump out of his skin. He is also apt to make 
the most ludicrous mistakes. Toward morning, about day-break, 
I have frequently mistaken the first faint buzz of some minute fly, 
within a foot or so of my ear, for the call of moose two or three 
miles off. 

About ten o'clock, the Indian gave it up in despair and came 
down the tree ; we rolled ourselves up in our rugs, pulled the hoods 
of our blanket coats over our heads, and went to sleep. I awoke liter- 
ally shaking with cold. It was still the dead of night, and the stars 
were shining with intense brilliancy, to my great disappointment, for 
I was in hopes of seeing the first streaks of dawn. It was freezing 
very hard, far too hard for me to think of going to sleep again. So 
I roused the Indian, and suggested that he should try another call or 
two. 

Accordingly, we stole down to the edge of the little point of wood 
in which we had ensconced ourselves, and in a few minutes the forest 
was reéchoing the plaintive notes of the moose. Not an answer, 
not a sound—utter silence, as if all the world were dead! broken 
suddenly and horribly by a yell that made the blood curdle in one’s 
veins. It was the long, quavering, human, but unearthly scream of 
a loon on the distant lake. After what seemed to be many hours, 
but what was in reality but a short time, the first indications of dawn 
revealed themselves in the rising of the morning star, and the slightest 
possible paling of the eastern sky. The cold grew almost unbearable. 

13A 


198 Moose-FHlunting in Canada. 


That curious shiver that runs through nature—the first icy current 
of air that precedes the day—chilled us to the bones. I rolled 
myself up in my blanket and lighted a pipe, trying to retain what 
little caloric remained in my body, while the Indian again ascended 
the tree. By the time he had called twice it was gray dawn. Birds 
were beginning to move about and busy squirrels to look out for 
their breakfast of pine-buds. 1 sat listening intently, and watching 
the blank, emotionless face of the Indian as he gazed around him, 
when suddenly I saw his countenance blaze up with vivid excitement. 
His eyes seemed to start from his head, his muscles twitched, his face 
glowed, he seemed transformed in a moment into a different being. 
At the same time he began, with the utmost celerity, but with ex- 
treme caution, to descend to the ground. He motioned to me not 
to make any noise, and whispered that a moose was coming across 
the barren and must be close by. Grasping my rifle, we crawled 
carefully through the grass, crisp and noisy with frost, down to the 
edge of our island of woods. and there, after peering cautiously 
around some stunted juniper bushes, I saw standing, about sixty 
yards off, a bull-moose. He looked gigantic in the thin morn- 
ing mist which was beginning to drift up from the surface of the 
barren. Great volumes of steam issued from his nostrils, and his 
whole aspect, looming in the fog, was vast and almost terrific. He 
stood there, perfectly motionless, staring at the spot from which he 
had heard the cry of the supposed cow, irresolute whether to come 
on or not. The Indian was anxious to bring him a little closer, but 
I did not wish to run the risk of scaring him; and so, taking aim as 
fairly as I could, considering I was shaking all over with cold, I fired 
and struck him behind the shoulder. He plunged forward on his 
knees, jumped up, rushed forward for about two hundred yards, and 
then fell dead at the edge of the heavy timber on the far side of the 
barren. 

We went to work then and there to skin and clean him, an oper- 
ation which probably took us an hour or more; and having rested 
ourselves a few minutes, we started off to take a little cruise round 
the edge of the barren and see if there were any caribou on it. I 
should explain that “cruising” is, in the provinces, performed on 
land as well as at sea. A man says he has spent all summer “ cruis- 
ing” the woods in search of pine timber, and if your Indian wants* 


Moose-flunting in Canada. 199 


you to go out for a walk, he will say, ‘‘ Let us take a cruise around 
somewhere.” Accordingly, we trudged off over the soft, yielding 
surface of the bog, and, taking advantage of some stunted bushes, 
crossed to the opposite side, so as to be well down wind in case any 
animal should be on it. The Indian then ascended to the top of the 
highest pine-tree he could find, taking my glasses with him, and had 
a good look all over the barren. There was not a thing to be seen. 
We then passed through a small strip of wood, and came out upon 
another plain, and there, on ascending a tree to look round, the 
Indian espied two caribou feeding toward the timber. We had to 
wait some little time till they got behind an island of trees, and then, 
running as fast as the soft nature of the ground would permit, we 
contrived to get close up to them just as they entered the thick 
woods, and, after an exciting stalk of about half an hour, I managed 
to kill both. 

Having performed the obsequies of the chase upon the two cari- 
bou, we returned to our calling-place. By this time it was about 
noon; the sun was blazing down with almost tropical heat. We had 
been awake the greater part of the night, and had done a hard 
morning’s work, and felt a decided need for refreshment. In a few 
minutes we had lighted a little fire, put the kettle on to boil, and set 
the moose kidneys, impaled on sharp sticks, to roast by the fire; and 
with fresh kidneys, good strong tea, plenty of sugar and salt, and 
some hard biscuit, I made one of the most sumptuous breakfasts 
it has been my lot to assist at. 

Breakfast over, I told the Indian to go down to camp and bring 
up the other men to assist in cutting up and smoking the meat. As 
soon as he had departed, I laid myself out fora rest. I shifted my 
bed—that is to say, my heap of dried bracken and pine-tops—under 
the shadow of a pine, spread my blanket out, and lay down to smoke 
the pipe of peace in the most contented frame of mind that a man 
can ever hope to enjoy in this uneasy and troublesome world. I 
had suffered from cold and from hunger—I was now warm and well 
fed. I was tired after a hard day’s work and long night’s vigil, and 
was thoroughly capable of enjoying that greatest of all luxuries— 
sweet repose after severe exercise. The day was so warm that the 
shade of the trees fell cool and grateful, and I lay flat on my back, 
smoking my pipe, and gazing up through the branches into a per- 


200 Moose-Hlunting in Canada. 


fectly clear, blue sky, with occasionally a little white cloud like a bit 
of swan’s-down floating across it, and felt, as I had often felt before, 
that no luxury of civilization can at all compare with the comfort a 
man can obtain in the wilderness. I lay smoking till I dropped off 
to sleep, and slept soundly until the men, coming up from camp, 
awoke me. 

Such is a pretty fair sample of a good day’s sport. It was not a 
very exciting day, and I have alluded to it chiefly because the inci- 
dents are fresh in my mind. The great interest of moose-calling 
comes in when a bull answers early in the evening, and will not 
come up boldly, and you and the bull spend the whole night trying 
to outwit each other. Sometimes, just when you think you have 
succeeded in deceiving him, a little air of wind will spring up; he 
will get scent of you, and be off in a second. Sometimes a bull will 
answer at intervals for several hours, will come up to the edge of the 
open ground, and there stop and cease speaking. You wait, anx- 
iously watching for him all night, and in the morning, when you 
examine the ground, you find that something had scared him, and 
that he had silently made off, so silently that his departure was unno- 
ticed. It is marvelous how so great and heavy a creature can move 
through the woods without making the smallest sound; but he can 
do so, and does, to the great confusion of the hunter. 

Sometimes another bull appears upon the scene, and a frightful 
battle ensues ; or a cow will commence calling, and rob you of your 
prey; or you may get an answer or two in the evening, and then 
hear nothing for several hours, and go to sleep and awake in the 
morning to find that the bull had walked calmly up to within ten 
yards of you. Very frequently you may leave camp on a perfectly 
clear, fine afternoon, when suddenly a change will come on, and you 
may have to pass a long, dreary night on some bare and naked spot 
of ground, exposed to the pitiless pelting of the storm. One such 
night I well remember, last fall. It rained and thundered and blew 
the whole time, from about eight o'clock, until daylight at last gave 
us a chance of dragging our chilled and benumbed bodies back to 
camp. Fortunately such exposure, though unpleasant, never does any 
one any harm in the wilderness. 

Occasionally, a moose will answer, but nothing will induce him to 
come up, and in the morning 


ao) 


if there is a little wind, you can resort 


Moose-Hunting tn Canada. 201 


to the only other legitimate way of hunting the moose, namely, 
“creeping,” or “still hunting,” as it would be termed in the States, 
which is, as nearly as possible, equivalent to ordinary deer-stalking. 

After the rutting season the moose begin to ‘“‘yard,” as it is 
termed. I have seen pictures of a moose-yard, in which numbers of 
animals are represented inside and surrounded by a barrier of snow, 
on the outside of which baffled packs of wolves are clamorously 
howling; and I have seen a moose-yard so described in print as to 
make it appear that a number of moose herd together and keep 
tramping and tramping in the snow to such an extent that by mid- 
winter they find themselves in what is literally a yard—a_ hollow, 
bare place, surrounded by deep snow. Of course, such a definition 
is utterly absurd. A moose does not travel straight on when he is 
in search of food, but selects a particular locality, and remains there 
as long as the supply of provisions holds out; and that place is 
called a yard. 

Sometimes a solitary moose “yards” alone, sometimes two or 
three together. Occasionally, as many as half a dozen may be found 
congregated in one place. When a man says he has found a 
“moose-yard,” he means that he has come across a place where it is 
evident, from the tracks crossing and recrossing and intersecting 
each other in all directions, and from the signs of browsing on the 
trees, that one or more moose have settled down to feed for the 
winter. Having once selected a place or ‘‘yard,” the moose will 
remain there till the following summer, if the food holds out and they 
are not disturbed by man. If forced to leave their ‘‘yard,” they will 
travel a long distance—twenty or thirty miles—before choosing 
another feeding-ground. After the rutting season, moose wander 
about in an uneasy state of mind for three weeks or so, and are not 
all settled down till the beginning of November. 

In ‘‘creeping,” therefore, or stalking moose, the first thing to be 
done is to find a moose-yard. You set out early in the morning, 
in any direction you may think advisable, according to the way the 
wind blows, examining carefully all the tracks that you come across. 
When you hit upon a track, you follow it a little way, examining it 
and the ground and trees, to see if the animal is traveling or not. If 
you find that the moose has ‘‘yarded,” that is to say, fed, and you 
can come across evidences of his presence not more than a couple of 


202 Moose-Flunting in Canada. 


days or so old, you make up your mind. to hunt that particular 
moose. 

The utmost caution and skill are necessary. The moose invari- 
ably travels down-wind some little distance before beginning to feed, 
and then works his way up, browsing about at will in various direc- 
tions. He also makes a circle down-wind before lying down, so that, 
if you hit on a fresh track and then follow it, you are perfectly certain 
to start the animal without seeing him. You may follow a moose 
track a whole day, as I have done before now, and finally come across 
the place where you started him, and then discover that you had 
passed within fifty yards of that spot early in the morning, the 
animal having made a large circuit and lain down close to his tracks. 
The principle, therefore, that the hunter has to go upon is to keep 
making small semicircles down-wind, so as to constantly cut the 
tracks and yet keep the animal always to windward of him. Hav- 
ing come across a track and made up your mind whether it is pretty 
fresh, whether the beast is a large one worth following, and whether 
it is settled down and feeding quietly, you will not follow the track, 
but go down-wind and then gradually work up-wind again till you 
cut the tracks a second time. Then you must make out whether 
the tracks are fresher or older than the former. whether they are 
tracks of the same moose or those of another, and leave them again 
and work up, and cut thema third time; and so you go on gradually, 
always trimming down-wind and edging up-wind again, until, finally, 
you have quartered the whole ground. 

Perhaps the moose is feeding upon a hard-wood ridge of beech 
and maples of, say, two or three miles in length and a quarter of a 
mile in width. Every square yard you must make good, in the way 
I have endeavored to describe, before you proceed to go up to the 
moose. At length, by dint of great perseverance and caution, you 
will have so far covered the ground that you will know the animal 
must be in some particular spot. Then comes the difficult moment. 
I may say at once that it is mere waste of time trying to creep except 
on a windy day, even with moccasins on; and it is of no use at any time 
trying to creep a moose unless you are provided with soft leather moc- 
casins. No human being can get within shot of a moose on a still day; 
the best time is when windy weather succeeds a heavy fall of rain. 
Then the ground is soft, the little twigs strewed about bend instead 


Moose-flunting tn Canada. 203 


of breaking, and the noise of the wind in the trees deadens the sound 
of your footsteps. If the ground is dry, and there is not much wind, 
it is impossible to get near the game. When you have determined 
that the moose is somewhere handy,—when you come across per- 
fectly fresh indications of his presence,—you proceed inch by inch ; 
you must not make the smallest noise; the least crack of a dead 
branch or of a stick under foot will start the animal. Especially care- 
ful must you be that nothing taps against your gun-stock, or that you 
do not strike the barrel against a tree, for, naturally, any such unusual 
sound is far worse than the cracking of a stick. If, however, you suc- 
ceed in imitating the noiseless movements and footsteps of your 
Indian, you will probably be rewarded by seeing him presently make 
a “point” like a pointer dog. Every quivering fiber in his body 
proves his excitement. He will point out something dark to you 
among the trees. That dark mass is a moose, and you must fire at it, 
without being too careful what part of the animal you are going to 
hit, for probably the moose has heard you, and is only waiting a 
second before making up his mind to be off. 

Generally speaking, the second man sees the moose first. The 
leader is too much occupied in looking at the tracks—in seeing 
where he is going to put his foot down. The second man has only 
to tread carefully in the footsteps of the man preceding him, and is 
able to concentrate his attention more on looking about. The 
moment you spy or hear the animal, you should imitate the call of a 
moose,—first, to attract the attention of the animal, which, if it has 
not smelt you, will probably stop a second to make sure what it 
is that has frightened him ; secondly, to let the Indian in front know 
that the game is on foot. Moose-creeping is an exceedingly diff- 
cult and exciting pastime. It requires all a man’s patience, for, of 
course, you may travel day after day in this way without finding any 
traces of deer. To the novice it is not interesting, for, appar- 
ently, the Indian wanders aimlessly about the woods without any 
particular object. When you come to understand the motive for 
every twist and turn he makes, and appreciate the science he is dis- 
playing, it becomes one of the most fascinating pursuits in which 
the sportsman can indulge. Sometimes one may be in good luck 
and come across a moose in some glade or “interval,” the result of 
the labors of former generations of beavers. An “interval” is the 


204 Moose-Hunting in Canada. 


local term for natural meadows, which are frequently found along 
the margins of streams. Beavers have done great and useful work 
in all these countries. The evidences of their labors have far out- 
lived the work of aboriginal man. They dam up little streams and 
form shallow lakes and ponds. Trees fall in and decay ; the ponds 
get choked with vegetation, fill up, and are turned into natural 
meadows of great value to the settler. Beavers have played an 
important part in rendering these savage countries fit for the habita- 
tion of civilized man. 

The moose may also be run down in winter-time on snow-shoes. 
This may be called partly a legitimate, and partly an illegitimate, 
mode of killing the animal. If the snow is not very deep, the moose 
can travel, and to come up with him requires immense endurance on 
the part of a man, but no skill except that involved in the art of run- 
ning on snow-shoes. You simply start the animal and follow after 
him for a day, or sometimes two or three days, when you come up 
with him and walk as close as you like and shoot him. 

If the snow lies very deep in early spring, moose may be slaugh- 
tered with ease. The sun thaws the surface, which freezes up again 
at night and forms an icy crust strong enough to support a man on 
snow-shoes, or a dog, but not nearly strong enough to support a 
moose. Then they can be run down without trouble. You find 
your moose and start a dog after him. The unfortunate moose 
flounders helplessly in the snow, cutting his legs to pieces, and in a 
very short time becomes exhausted, and you can walk up to him, 
knock him on the head with an ax, or stick him with a knife, as you 
think best. Hundreds and hundreds of moose have been slaughtered 
in this scandalous manner for their hides alone. The settlers also 
dig pits for them and snare them, both of which practices, I need 
hardly say, are most nefarious. There is nothing sportsmanlike 
about them, and they involve waste of good meat, because, unless 
a man looks to the snare every day (which these men never do), he 
runs the chance of catching a moose and finding the carcass unfit 
for food when he revisits the place. I shall not describe the method 
of snaring a moose, for fear some reader who has followed me thus 
far might be tempted to practice it, or lest it might be supposed for a 
moment that I had ever done such a wicked thing myself. 


Moose-Hunting tn Canada. 205 


Many men prefer caribou-hunting to moose-hunting, and I am 
not sure that they are not right. The American caribou is, I believe, 
identical with the reindeer of Europe, though the American animal 
grows toa much larger size and the males carry far finer horns. The 
does have small horns also. I believe the caribou is the only species 
of deer marked by that peculiarity. Caribou are very fond of getting 
out on the lakes as soon as the ice will bear, and feeding round the 
shores. They feed entirely on moss and lichens, principally on the 
long gray moss, locally known as ‘old men’s beards,” which hangs 
in graceful festoons from the branches of the pines, and on the 
beautiful purple and cream-colored caribou moss that covers the 
barrens. They are not very shy animals, and will venture close to 
lumber camps to feed on the moss which grows most luxuriantly on 
the tops of the pines which the ax-men have felled. Caribou cannot 
be run down, and the settlers rarely go after them. They must be 
stalked on the barrens and lakes, or crept up to in the woods, precisely 
in the same manner as the moose. 

Such is a brief outline of some Canadian sports. Life in the 
woods need not be devoted entirely to hunting, but can be varied 
to a great extent by fishing and trapping. The streams and lakes 
teem with trout, and the finest salmon-fishing in the world is to be 
found in New Brunswick and on the north shore of the gulf. In 
Lower Canada there is still a good deal of fur to be found. In New 
Brunswick and Nova Scotia beavers are almost extinct, and marten, 
mink, lynx, otter, and other valuable fur-bearing animals are com- 
paratively scarce. It would be hard, I think, fora man to spend a 
holiday more pleasantly and beneficially than in the Canadian woods. 
Hunting leads him into beautiful scenery; his method of life induces 
a due contemplation of nature and tends to wholesome thought. He 
has not much opportunity for improving his mind with literature, but 
he can read out of the great book of nature, and find “books in the 
running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.” If he 
has his eyes and ears open, he cannot fail to take notice of many 
interesting circumstances and phenomena; and if he has any knowl- 
edge of natural history, every moment of the day must be suggesting 
something new and interesting to him. <A strange scene, for ex- 
ample, which came within my observation last year, completely 


206 Moose-flunting in Canada. 


puzzled me at the time and has done so ever since. I was in Nova 
Scotia in the fall, when one day my Indian told me that in a lake 
close by all the rocks were moving out of the water, a circumstance 
which I thought not a little strange. However, I went to look at 
the unheard-of spectacle, and sure enough there were the rocks 
apparently all moving out of the water on to dry land. The lake is 
of considerable extent, but shallow, and full of great masses of rock. 
Many of these masses appear to have traveled right out of the lake, 
and are now high and dry some fifteen yards above the margin of 
the water. They have plowed deep and regularly defined chan- 
nels for themselves. You may see them of all sizes, from blocks of, 
say, roughly speaking, six or eight feet in diameter, down to stones 
which a man could lift. Moreover, you find them in various stages 
of progress: some a hundred yards or more from shore, and appar- 
ently just beginning to move; others half way to their destination, 
and others, again, as I have said, high and dry above the water. 
In all cases there is a distinct groove or furrow which the rock 
has clearly plowed for itself. I noticed one particularly good 
specimen, an enormous block, which lay some yards above high- 
water mark. The earth and stones were heaped up in front of it to 
a height of three or four feet. There was a deep furrow, the exact 
breadth of the block, leading down directly from it into the lake, 
and extending till it was hidden from my sight by the depth of the 
water. Loose stones and pebbles were piled up on each side of this 
groove in a regular clearly defined line. I thought at first that, 
from some cause or other, the smaller stones, pebbles, and sand had 
been dragged down from aéove, and consequently had piled them- 
selves up in fron of all the large rocks too heavy to be moved, and 
had left a vacant space or furrow behind the rocks. But if that had 
been the case, the drift of moving material would of course have 
joined together again in the space of a few yards behind the fixed 
rocks. On the contrary, these grooves or furrows remained the 
same width throughout their entire length, and have, | think, 
undoubtedly been caused by the rock forcing its way up through the 
loose shingle and stones which compose the bed of the lake. What 
power has set these rocks in motion it is difficult to decide. The 
action of ice is the only thing that might explain it; but how ice 
could exert itself in that special manner, and why, if ice is the cause 


Moose-Hunting in Canada. 207 


of it, it does not manifest that tendency in every lake in every part 
of the world, I do not pretend to comprehend. 

My attention having been once directed to this, I noticed it in 
various other lakes. Unfortunately, my Indian only mentioned it to 
me a day or two before I left the woods. I had not time, therefore, 
to make any investigation into the subject. Possibly some of my 
readers may be able to account for this, to me, extraordinary 
phenomenon. 

Even from the point of view of a traveler who cares not for field 
sports, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and, in fact, all Canada, is 
a country full of interest. It is interesting for many reasons which I 
have not space to enter into now, but especially so as showing the 
development of what, in future, will be a great nation. For whether 
in connection with this country, or as independent, or as joined to 
the United States, or any portion of them, that vast region which is 
now called British North America will assuredly some day support 
the strongest, most powerful, and most masterful population on the 
continent of America. 


CARIBOU-HUNTING. 


vi 
By CHARLES C. WARD. 


O determine accurately the geographical distribution of an 

animal of such wandering habits as the caribou, or American 

reindeer (Cervus tarandus—Linn.; Rangifer Caribou—Au- 
dubon and Bachman), is extremely difficult. Every few years make 
a change. One year finds the species receding from haunts pre- 
viously occupied and encroaching upon grounds hitherto unfre- 
quented; and in some districts, from various causes, we find them 
exterminated. 

I may say, however, that the caribou largely inhabits Labrador 
and Newfoundland, still exists in considerable numbers in the prov- 
ince of New Brunswick, in the wilderness regions of the Rest- 
gouche, in the country watered by the upper south-west branch of the 
Miramichi, also on Cairns River—another branch of the Miramichi. 
He is also abundant at the head-waters of Green River, in the county 
of Madawaska. In Queens County, he is found at head of Grand 
Lake, Salmon River. In Kent County, he is again met with on the 
Kishanaguak and Kishanaguaksis, also frequently on the Bathurst 
road, between Bathurst and Chatham. A few years ago, the animals 
were quite numerous in Charlotte County, and are still occasionally 
met with. In the adjoining province of Nova Scotia their numbers 
are gradually decreasing, their strongholds at present being confined 
to the Cobequid Mountains and the uplands of Cape Breton. Going 
westward and south of the St. Lawrence, the caribou is again met 
with in Rimouski, his haunts extending southward along the borders 
of the State of Maine and the country south of the city of Quebec 
to New Hampshire. The moose is found with him all through this 


Caribou -Hunting. 209 


CARIBOU BARRENS. 


district, and also the Virginia deer in its southern part. North of 
the Ottawa and St. Lawrence, the caribou ranges all through the 
vast forest regions as far as the southern limits of Hudson’s Bay, and 
is abundant in the north-west territories, as far as the McKenzie 
River, and is also found inhabiting the high lands of British 
Columbia. 

In the State of Maine they are met with in tolerable abundance, 
and if the existing game-laws are strictly enforced, we may hope 
that their numbers will not be diminished. In the wilderness tracts 
of that State there are vast stretches of barrens, amply provided with 
the reindeer lichen and interspersed with innumerable lakes and 
uplands, constituting a country admirably adapted to the habits of 
the caribou. It has been said that the caribou extends along the 
border west of Lake Superior to the Pacific; but, as late as 1874, none 
were found along the border of Dakota and Montana. _ If the species 
reaches the wooded region at and west of the Rocky Mountains, its 
presence does not seem to be well attested. It is, however, said to 
occur in Washington Territory, but I may add that a competent 
authority doubts the existence of the caribou in the United States 
west of the Red River of the North. Within the last year, the 
presence of the caribou in Minnesota and Wisconsin has been 
authenticated. 

The prevailing color of the caribou is a dark fawn inclining to 
gray, darkest at the tips of the hairs, on the sides, ears, face, and 


14 


210 Caribou - Hunting. 


outside of the legs, and fading to almost pure white on the neck 
and throat. The under part of the body and tail is white, and a ring 
of white encircles the legs just above the hoof. Some specimens 


have a light spot on the shoulders and a black patch on the mouth. 


io 
It is not uncommon to find aged and full-grown animals adorned 
with a flowing mane, which adds greatly to the grace and beauty of 
their appearance. In midwinter I have noticed departures from the 
above description, the coats of some animals inclining more to light 
gray; and in others, one half of the body was very light gray, and the 
other half much darker. In particular, I remember having killed a 
doe of extraordinary size and beauty of form, whose general color 
was an exceedingly rich dark brown, and entirely different from that 
of any other caribou in the herd. 

The heads and antlers of the caribou present much diversity of 
form, and seldom are any two found alike. In the same herd, | have 
seen heads very like that of a two-year-old colt; then, again, others 
had pronounced Roman noses, the whole head appearing much 
longer. In some instances, the palmation extends throughout the 
horns; while in others, such as the Labrador caribou, it is often con- 
fined to the tines at the top of the horn, the main stem being nearly 
round. Again, we find in the caribou inhabiting Newfoundland 
horns of very great size, perfect in palmation, and in many cases 
having both brow antlers developed. 

The construction of the caribou’s 
hoof differs from that of any other 
animal of the deer tribe, and is won- 
derfully adapted to the services it is 
required to perform, and enables the 
animal to travel in deep snows, over 
frozen lakes and icy crusts, when the 
moose and deer are confined to their 
yards and at the mercy of their foes. 
Toward the end of the season, the 
frog begins to be absorbed, and in 
the month of December is entirely 
so; at the same time, the hoof ex- 
' pands and becomes concave, with 
WOODLAND CARIBOU HOOFS. sharp and very hard, shell-like edges. 


Caribou - Hunting. 211 


The hoof figured in this paper is drawn from nature, and 
measures fourteen inches in circumference, five inches in diameter, 
and has a lateral spread of ten inches. A full-grown caribou stands 
nearly five feet at the shoulder, and weighs from four hundred to 
four hundred and fifty pounds. 

The animal is very compact in form, possessed of great speed 
and endurance, and is a very Ishmaelite in its wandering habits ; 
changing, as the pest of flies draws near, from the low-lying swamps 
and woods where its principal article of diet, the Cladonia rangi- 
ferina, or reindeer lichen, abounds, to the highest mountain - fast- 
nesses ; then again, when the cold nights give warning of the changing 
season, descending to the plains. 

The rutting season begins early in the month of September; the 
antlers then have attained their full growth, and the animals engage 
in fierce conflicts, similar to those indulged in by the moose, and 
frequently with as tragic an ending. The does bring forth one, and 
sometimes two fawns in the month of May; and bucks, does, and the 
young herd together in numbers varying from nine or ten individ- 
uals to several hundreds. 

Horns are common to both sexes, but the horns of the bucks are 
seldom carried later than the month of December, while the does 
carry theirs all winter, and use them to defend the fawns against the 
attacks of the bucks. Both sexes use their hoofs to clear away the 
snow in searching for mosses on the barrens. In their biennial 
migrations, they form well-defined tracks or paths, along which the 
herds travel in Indian file. I have often studied their habits on the 
extensive caribou barrens between New River and the head of Lake 
Utopia, in Charlotte County, New Brunswick. These barrens are 
about sixteen miles in extent, and marked with well-defined trails, 
over which the animals were constantly passing and repassing, here 
and there spending a day where the lichens afforded good living, 
then away again on their never-ending wanderings. 

A friend of mine, who visited Newfoundland on an exploring 
expedition, informs me that there the caribou holds almost exclusive 
domain over an unbroken wilderness of nearly thirty thousand square 
miles, in a country wonderfully adapted to his habits, and bountifully 
supplied with his favorite food—the reindeer lichen. 

The caribou is possessed of much curiosity, and does not readily 


212 Caribou -Flunting. 


CARIBOU MIGRATING. < 


take alarm at what he sees. Where his haunts have been unmo- 
lested, he will unconcernedly trot up within range of the rifle. I am 
inclined to believe that a great deal of this apparent fearlessness is 
due to defective vision. If this is so, he is compensated by having a 
marvelous gift of scent, quite equal, if not superior, to that of the 
moose. And well for the caribou that he is thus gifted. The wolf 
follows the herds throughout all their wanderings. On the plains or 
on the hills, where the poor caribou retire to rear their young, he is 
constantly lurking near, ready to pounce on any straggler, or—if in 
sufficient numbers—to boldly attack the herd. 

The woodland caribou is very swift, and cunning in devices to 
escape his pursuers. His gait is a long, swinging trot, which he per- 
forms with his head erect and scut up; and there is no animal of the 


Caribou -funting. 213 


ATTACKED BY A WOLF. 


deer tribe that affords better sport or more delicious food when capt- 
ured. The wandering habits of the caribou make it very uncertain 
where one will fall in with him, even in his accustomed and well- 
known haunts. When once started, the chase is sure to be a long 
one and its results doubtful; in fact, so much so that an old hunter 
seldom follows up a retreating herd, but resorts to strategy and tries 
to head them off, or at once proceeds by the shortest way to some 
other barren in hopes of finding them there. 

It seems to be a mooted question whether the barren-ground 
caribou (R. Grenlandicus ) found inhabiting the Arctic regions and 
shores of Hudson’s Bay is another species, or only a variety of the 
woodland caribou. The barren-ground caribou is a much smaller 
animal, and seldom exceeds one hundred and fifty pounds weight, 
while large specimens of the woodland caribou weigh nearly five 
hundred pounds. 

The caribou is very fond of the water, is a capital swimmer, and in 
jumping he is more than the equal of any other deer. His advent- 

I4A 


214 Caribou - Hunting. 


AFLOAT ON A CAKE OF ICE, 


urous disposition, no doubt, in some degree influences the geograph- 
ical distribution of the species. In the month of December, 1877, 
a caribou was discovered floating out to sea on a cake of ice near 
Dalhousie, on the Restigouche River in New Brunswick, and was 
captured alive by some men who put off to him in a boat. 

It is said that, in very severe seasons, large numbers of caribou 
cross from Labrador to Newfoundland on the ice. His admirably 
constructed hoof, with its sharp, shell-like, cutting edges, enables 
him to cross the icy floes; when traveling in deep snow, its lateral 
expansion prevents him from sinking. 

At one time the Indians were as great adepts at calling the wood- 
land caribou as they are in the present day in deluding the moose. 
My Indian friend Sebatis is the only Indian I know who can imitate 
the calls of the caribou, and he has for a long time given up this 
manner of hunting. He informs me that, from being so much hunted 
and molested in their haunts, the caribou have become much more 
timid and wary even during the rutting season, and also seem to be 
much more critical of the sounds produced by the birch-bark call, 
and consequently very seldom respond thereto. 

The quiet gray color of the caribou is well adapted to conceal his 
presence from the hunter, and it requires an educated eye to pick out 
his form on the heathy barren, where everything assimilates to him 


Caribou - Hunting. 215 


in color; and, were it not for occasional effects of light disclosing his 
position, the hunter might frequently pass within easy shot without 
seeing him. The Indians are so well aware of this that they always 
approach a barren with extreme caution, always traveling down 
wind, and never disconcerted if game is not sighted at once. Nor is 
the case improved when one comes to hunt for them in the forest ; 
there, the gray tree-trunks and tangled undergrowth make it ex- 
tremely difficult to see them. 


CARIBOU CROSSING A FROZEN LAKE, 


The caribou, whatever may be his need for haste, seldom bounds 
or gallops, except for a few jumps when first he spies his enemy, but 
drops into his accustomed trot, which carries him over the ground 
with great rapidity, and then, no matter how old a hand the hunter 
may be, nothing but the admirable skill in venery of his Indian guide 
will afford him the slightest chance of coming up with the game again. 

The indifference or curiosity with regard to the noise of fire-arms 
exhibited by the caribou often stands the hunter in good stead and 
affords him a chance for a second shot, should his first prove ineffect- 
ual; for it is not uncommon for a herd to stand stock-still on hearing 
the report of a gun, even when one of their number has fallen a 
victim thereto. The pause is but for an instant, and the hunter must 
be quick to take advantage of it, or his chance will be gone before 
he is aware of it; for, recovering quickly from the shock, or alarm, 
or whatever it may be, the herd will dash off at a rattling pace. 


216 Caribou - Hunting. 


A caribou, if not mortally wounded, will endeavor to keep up 
with the herd, and will travel a long way without giving out. If 
near the sea-coast, the wounded animal seeks it to die, and so is 
often found by the hunter. In such cases the skill of the Indian 
again comes in play, and he will follow the track of the wounded 
animal, readily picking it out from all the others, and seldom failing 
to run it down. The Indians say that the caribou likes to feed on 
sea-weed, and goes to the coast in the spring and fall of the year 
for that purpose. 

Once upon a time, not so long ago as when “‘little birds built 
their nests in old men’s beards,” but quite long enough to make one 
regret the days when caribou were plenty on all the barrens in 
Charlotte County, New Brunswick, the writer, in company with his 
Indian friend Sebatis and an old Indian named Tomah, traveled all 
day in pursuit of a herd of caribou, and after losing much time lying 
in ambush, behind a big bowlder, were suddenly overtaken by night- 
fall, which, in the short November days, shuts down without warning. 

‘How far to camp, Sebatis ?” I inquired. 

“Well, s’pose daylight, about five miles; but so dark now, you 
see, makes it good deal further.” 

“Can you find the camp ?” 

“Find ‘im camp? Sartin; but take good while, so dark, can’t 
see nothin’ ’t all; tumble down good deal, you see, so many win’falls ; 
then may be get in swamp besides.” 

Had daylight given us the opportunity of selecting a camping- 
place, we could not have found a spot better suited to our purpose 
than the grove of grand old firs and hemlocks that hemmed us in on 
every side and sheltered us with broad, spreading branches. In front 
we had a forest lake; on the outskirts of our stronghold a plentiful 
supply of hard wood stood ready for the axe which Tomah was just 
releasing from its cover of leather. 

The darkness and silence of these old woods were appalling, and 
as I stood leaning on the old tree against which we had stacked 
our rifles, | gladly welcomed the quick strokes of Tomah’s axe, that 
was already dealing death-blows to the birches and maples. 

Sebatis had gone off in search of dry wood to start the fire. I 
had not heard him return, and was watching a curious object moving 
about in the gloom with something like the actions of a bear. Pres- 


Caribou -Flunting. 217, 


ently it stopped, and seemed to be squatting on its haunches; then 
there came a curious, crackling sound, like the crunching of bones ; 
then a faint light, gradually increasing in brightness and volume 
until the surroundings began to take form, and long shadows crept 
stealthily past me, and the object which I had mistaken for a bear 
arose upon his legs, and quietly observed : 

‘Pretty good fire by-em-by, when Tomah fetch dry hard wood ;” 
then tramped off to assist Tomah in carrying in the fire- wood. 

‘Now, then, best cook supper first,” said Sebatis; ‘then make 
‘im bough bend; too hungry now.” 

“All right, Sebatis; but how are you going to boil the water for 
the tea?” 

‘Well, sartin, we don’t have no kettle; have boil ’im water in 
birch bark; make kin’ of box, you see.” 

‘“T don’t believe you can do it.” 

“You don't ‘lieve it? Well, by tunders, | show you pretty quick, 
when Tomah fetch bark.” 

And show me he did; and better tea I never tasted than that 
brewed by Sebatis in his kettle of birch bark, and served in little 
cups of the same material, deftly fashioned by Tomah. 

The frosts of winter had not yet sealed the forest lakes, and the 
night was unusually mild,—so much so, indeed, that Sebatis pre- 
dicted a sudden change ere long. 

During the lulls in the talk, I fancied that I heard the notes of a 
bird, but did not allude to it, as the sound might have been caused 
by steam escaping from one of the huge logs piled on the fire. 

“Just so I told you,” remarked Sebatis, as he arose to get a light 
for his pipe, ‘‘ big snow-storm comin’.” 

“Why do you think so, Sebatis ?” 

“T hear ‘im wa-be-pe singin’ just now; that always sign storm 
comin’.” 

“Ts wa-be-pe a bird?” 

“Yes; wa-be-pe little bird; got kin’ of small little spots all over.” 

‘Does it sing at night?” 

“ Always; sings best when moonlight; then he sing once every 
hour all night; s’pose he sing dark night, sign storm comin’.” 

“Is he like any of the birds that were about the camp 
yesterday ?” 


218 Caribou - Hunting. 


“No, he don’t ‘long here ’t all, only summer time; this time year 
most always gone away warm country somewheres ; s’pose he don’t 
go pretty quick, sartin get froze.” 

‘““S’pose all han’s stop talkin’, may be chance hear wa-be-pe 
again,” said Tomah. 

Taking up a position far enough away to get rid of the noise made 
by the fire, I waited patiently for wa-be-pe. After listening intently 
for a few moments, | heard four inexpressibly mournful, bell-like notes, 
uttered with marked distinctness, and surprisingly like the first four 
notes of “Auld Lang Syne.” On reflection, | became impressed with the 
idea that the notes of this bird were exactly like the first notes of the 
song of the white-throated finch ; and after consultation with Sebatis, | 
was convinced that I had placed the nocturnal songster correctly. At 
the first dawn of day, after tightening our belts a hole or two, by way 
of breakfast, as the Indians facetiously remarked, we started to pick 
up the trail of the caribou. During the night, several inches of light 
snow had fallen, and the storm still continued. 

‘“Which way, Sebatis?” 

“Try back on big barren; then, spose we don’t find ’im fresh 
track, go right camp ’fore snow gets too deep; you see we don’t 
have no snow-shoes, make it pretty hard walkin’ by-em-by.” 

The storm was increasing every moment, and the light snow 
drifting rapidly before the rising wind, as, tramping in Indian file, we 
approached the confines of the big barren. The drift was so heavy 
on the barren that it was hard work to make headway against it, 
and I had just turned to regain my wind when [ heard Tomah 
ejaculate in Indian: 

‘“Megahlip! Chin-e-ga-bo!” (Caribou—be careful. ) 

The words were hardly spoken, when down the wind came a 
herd of caribou, trotting at a terrific pace, with head and scut up, 
and sending the snow in clouds on every side. I tried to get a shot, 
but was not quick enough. ‘Bang!” to right of me —‘ Bang!” to 
left of me, from the smooth-bores of Sebatis and Tomah, and all is 
smoke and drifting snow, out of which I get a glimpse of a head or 
horns, then the full figure of a fast trotting caribou, and last a noble 
buck wildly plunging in the flying fowdre—a victim to the fire of 
the Indians. 

“Come, Tomah, be quick! help butcher caribou. No time lose 


Caribou - Hunting. 219 


BRINGING IN THE CARIBOU, 


gettin’ camp; by-em-by pretty hard chance get there, storm so heavy, 
you see,” said Sebatis, as he stripped off the hide of the caribou. 

Ina few moments, the venison intended for the camp was cut, 
apportioned into loads, and the rest of the animal securely cached, 
to be brought in when wanted. Then we hastened to get off the 
barren and into the shelter of the woods, where we could draw a 
free breath unoppressed by the terrible drift. 

As the storm promised to be very heavy, we lost no time in 
gaining the protection of our camp. 

“ Now then,” said Sebatis, as he dropped his load on arriving at 
camp, ‘all han’s get fire-wood ready, stan’ big snow-storms; by 
t'unders, pretty lucky we get ‘im that caribou.” 


220 Cantbou- Hunting. 


‘Who kill im that caribou?” inquired Tomah ; “ two shots fired.” 

I had been dreading this for some time, but Sebatis cleverly 
evaded the question, and prevented the endless discussion sure to 
follow, by facetiously replying: 

“Well, I guess bullet kill ‘im, sartin.” 

Fortunately, in the hurry of skinning the caribou and cutting up 
the venison, they either forgot, or had not time to examine whether 
there was more than one bullet-hole in the skin; and as the latter, 
probably, would not be recovered until we were on the home-trail, I 
flattered myself that the discussion would not be revived. However, 
in this I was mistaken, as will be seen in the sequel. 

In appearance, no two men could differ more widely than my two 
henchmen. Sebatis stood six feet and two inches in his moccasins, 
had clear-cut features, and was possessed of infinite patience and 
good humor. Under severe provocation, his temper was apt to be 
short, but it was over quickly, and he never sulked. Tomah was very 
short in stature, bow-legged, and had a countenance terrible to look 
upon, the fierce expression of his restless eyes indicating unmistaka- 
bly his savage ancestry; and yet, withal, he was not an ill-tempered 
man ; and the deep, tragic tones in which he spoke, even when saying 
the most commonplace things, made some of his utterances irresistibly 
comical. His friendship for Sebatis was of long standing, and they 
got on very well together, except when a dispute arose about the 
shooting of a moose or caribou. At such times my ingenuity was 
taxed to prevent a fight. Soon their united efforts as axe-men, with 
my aid in carrying in, accumulated such a goodly pile of hard wood 
as enabled us to laugh at the howling storm. 

“Sartin I think, no chance hunt ’im caribou to-morrow; always 
bad snow-shoein’ when snow so light,” said Sebatis, as he shook off 
the snow from his clothes and prepared to cook our dinner of fat 
caribou steaks. 

“Sebatis, where are our little friends, the birds? I haven’t seen 
one since our return to camp.” 

“You see, hide somewhere when storm so heavy. S’pose sun- 
shine, you see ‘im comin’: ah-mon-a-tuk (cross-bill), kich-e-ge-gelas 
(chickadee), ump-kanusis (moose-bird),an’ ki-ha-neas (red-poll linnet).” 

Early next morning Tomah was absent, and I asked Sebatis 
where he was. 


Caribou - Hunting. 221 


‘Gone away somewhere ’bout daylight,” he replied; “try find 
‘im sign caribou, may be.” 

At noon, Tomah marched into camp, bringing with him, to my 
horror, the head and skin of the caribou slain the previous day. 

“Who kill ’im this caribou? Only one ball-hole in skin!” he 
said, defiantly, and in his deepest bass, as he deposited his spoils on 
the snow. 

“| fire right on his head,” said Sebatis, springing to his feet. 

“Well, you miss him, sartin. Bullet strike ’im on ribs jus’ where 
I fire,” rejoined Tomah. 

“Sartin, you tell ‘im big lie. I don’t miss ’im ’t all,” returned 
Sebatis, fiercely, as he unrolled the skin to examine for himself. His 
search disclosed but one bullet-hole, and that was on the side, just as 
Tomah stated. 


” 
’ 


After carefully examining the skin, I turned my attention to the 
head, and was about to give up in despair when I observed that one 
of the tines had been completely carried away close to the main 
stem. 

‘“ Here’s where your ball struck,” I said to Sebatis, pointing out 
the recent fracture on the horn. 

“Sartin, that’s true,” said Sebatis. ‘I know I didn’t miss ‘im 
fe alli? 

‘Always Sebatis come out pretty well. S’pose nobody else fire, 
sartin no caribou-steak breakfast this mornin’,” growled Tomah. 

In the afternoon, the sun shone out bright and warm, and our 
pert little friends, the birds, shyly renewed our acquaintance. The 
tameness of these forest birds is ever a source of delight to me. It 
is quite common to see cross-bills, pine-finches, chickadees, and _ red- 
polls all picking up crumbs together at one’s feet; and often after a 
few days’ acquaintance they become so familiar that they will accept 
food from the hand,—bread-crumbs, bits of raw meat; and even salt 
pork is readily accepted. In fact, nothing seems to come amiss to 
the little beauties, and they evidently enjoy the change from the dry 
cones and buds which form the staple of their winter diet. 

It seems ungrateful to single out any one bird where all are so 
tame, but I think that I must give the palm in this respect to my 
favorite—little black-cap. The naturalists give this little bird a 
dreadful character, and say of him that he smashes in the skulls of 


222 Caribou - Hunting. 


other little birds and eats their brains. I shall always consider it a 
vile slander, Audubon and all the rest of them to the contrary not- 
withstanding. These charming little birds are seldom seen except 
in the depths of the forests; at rare intervals, they come out to the 
clearings, but their homes are in the forest. In order to give an 
idea of the tameness of these birds, | may mention that at this 
moment, as I write, a cedar-bird is begging to be taken on my finger 
and held up to my face so that he may indulge in his pet occupation 
of preening my mustache, and a red-poll linnet is industriously strew- 
ing the floor with my pencils and paper, and if scolded flies away 
uttering his plaintive call, ‘‘ Sweet- Willie !” 

At night, as we sat over the camp-fire smok- 
Ing our pipes, we 
heard a_ horrid 
screech! ; “amusucie 


forest. 
‘‘ Up-we-pe-se- 


kin [lynx] chasin’ rabbits,” said 
Tomah in sepulchral tones, be- 
tween the whiffs of his pipe. 

‘You see,” said Sebatis, in explana- 
tion of Tomah’s remark, “when up-we- 
pe-se-kin make noise like that, scar’ im rabbit so bad he jump right 
out sight in deep snow, then you see up-we-pe-se-kin dig him out 
an’ have pretty good supper.” 

Just as I was turning out next morning, Sebatis walked into 
camp, and said: 


CEDAR-BIRDS. 


“Sartin, caribou very hungry this mornin’; I find plenty places 
where he eat ’im off old men’s beards, close up.” 

This is the long, trailing moss which hangs from the trees and 
bushes, and is a favorite food of the caribou. 


Caribou - Hunting. 22 


Ww 


“What kind of snow-shoeing to-day, Sebatis ?” 


“Just right; sun pack ‘im down snow good deal; very good 


chance snow-shoein’ now.” 


FOREST BIRDS. 


Tomah had breakfast ready, and in a few moments moccasins 
and snow-shoes were the order of the day. 

“Which way, Sebatis ?” 

“Try ‘im big barren again.” 

“Sartin, best go little barren first,” said Tomah; ‘s’pose we 
don’t find ’im caribou, then try ‘im big barren.” 

“May be Tomah right,” said Sebatis; ‘little barren nearest,— 
only ‘bout two miles,—an’ very good ground to fin’ caribou.” 

Just enough snow had fallen to make good snow-shoeing ; in fact, 
we could have got on without snow-shoes but for the. drifts and 
swampy parts of the barrens, over which the broad snow-shoes bore 
us safely. Fortunately for our comfort, the high wind that prevailed 
prevented the snow lodging in the spreading boughs of the conifer- 
ous trees, and we escaped the smothering often experienced from 
avalanches of snow immediately after a snow-storm. These ava- 
lanches are one of the most disagreeable things encountered in the 
forest in winter. Sometimes, as the hunter tries to force his way 
under the pendent boughs of a large fir-tree, the accumulated snow 
will be discharged upon his head, getting down his neck if his hood 
is not up, wetting the locks and barrels of his gun, and piling up on 


224 Caribou - Tunting. 


his snow-shoes in such a manner as to hold him prisoner for the time; 
and often, in trying to work clear, he gets his snow-shoes tangled 
and takes a header into the snow, and his misery is complete. More- 
over, the chances are ten to one that, while he is helplessly flound- 
ering in the snow, he hears the sharp crack of his companion’s rifle, 
who has stolen a march on him and is up with the game; and then 
good-bye to any sport that day, for even if he could get his gun dry 
and serviceable again, his nerves are so unstrung that he could not 
hit the side of a house, much less the swift caribou. 

On our way to the barren we saw several fresh tracks of caribou, 
but had not discovered their beds, as the Indians term the depressions 
in the snow made by the caribou when lying down to rest. After 
inspecting indications of that kind, the Indian can form a correct 
opinion of the time elapsed since the beds were occupied, and is 
guided thereby in his decision as to whether it is wise to follow up 
the tracks leading therefrom. 

Silent as mutes, we tramped along in Indian file; but if the 
Indians did not use their tongues, their eyes were not idle, and the 
slightest caribou sign was instantly discovered and examined. We 
had nearly reached the barren without finding any fresh tracks, and 
I was getting a little impatient, and sorry that we had not gone to 
the big barren, as first suggested by Sebatis, as it was in that direc- 
tion he saw the places where the caribou had cropped off the “old 
men’s beards.” 

‘Little barren handy now,” said Sebatis, with his usual abrupt- 
ness. 

‘Where is Tomah?” | inquired, having just discovered the 
absence of that worthy. 

‘““Where’s Tomah, sure enough?” echoed Sebatis. ‘I don’t 
miss him myself only just now.” 

He had vanished like a ‘‘spirit of eld,” and as where he had 
gone, or on what errand, was past finding out, we made our way 
quietly to the edge of the barren without him. 

Long and earnestly Sebatis scanned the barren with his search- 
ing gaze, then ventured out a few paces, stopped suddenly, and 
beckoned me to him. 

“Hist! don’t make noise,” he whispered. ‘‘ Caribou somewhere 
on this barren; you see ‘im track just longside big rock, then little 


Caribou -Hunting. 225 


ways ‘head you see ‘im tracks go everywheres; must be nine, may 
be ten caribou go that way.” 
“Are they fresh tracks?” 


WwW 
we 


“We look by-em-by; find out which way wind first. By t'un- 
ders, we got wrong end barren.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Wind blow straight down barren; s’pose we try hunt ‘im 
caribou, sartin he smell us.” 

“Well, what had we better do?” 

‘Best hide ’im somewheres on barren.” 

“There ’s a clump of firs nearly in the middle of the barren; I 
should think that a good place.” 

“We go try ‘im. You see caribou movin’ all time; may be 
by-em-by comin’ back on his tracks, then very good chance.” 

The barren was about three miles long and over one mile wide, 
sprinkled with groups of fir-trees, and the usual supply of alders, 
bowlders, and old dead tree-trunks. Lurking about in our place of 
concealment was tedious in the extreme, and I was about to beguile 
the time with a smoke, but I remembered in time the terrible rating 
old Tomah got from Sebatis when smoking, for we were in ambush 
behind the big bowlder. 

Just then we heard the boom of a gun. 

“By tunders, that old Tomah, sartin; so cunnin’, you see, just 
like fox; he find out wind wrong way, then he go round on woods 
an’ come out other end barren.” 

“Do you think he has turned the caribou back this way ?” 

‘“Sartin, that just reason he go round woods; so cunnin’, you see, 
that old Tomah.” 

We now moved out of our shelter a little so as to command a 
better view of the barren. 

“Do you see any caribou, Sebatis ?” 

“No, don’t see nothin’ ’t all 

I was looking intently, and fancied that I saw the form of a 


” 


caribou disappearing behind a bunch of alders. Sebatis saw him at 
the same moment, and several others that I failed to detect. 

“By tunders!” he whispered, ‘‘you see ‘im, one, two, five 
caribou, just goin’ behin’ bushes up there; good chance now, s’pose 
don’t make ’im noise.” 


ES 


226 Caribou - Hunting. 


A GOOD CHANCE. 


The good chance was so long in coming that I was well-nigh in 
despair. Sebatis had crossed to another clump of bushes, and, being 
rid of him, I was just about to resort to my pipe, when I heard the 
peculiar and unmistakable castanet sound caused by the split hoof 
of the caribou striking together as he recovered in his stride, and 
looking out on the barren I saw five caribou, trotting full speed, 
almost abreast of me, and not over forty yards distant. They raised 
such clouds of snow that I could only see their heads and occasion- 
ally their shoulders, but as it was my only chance I fired at the 
second caribou in the herd, and unfortunately only wounded him. 
He tried to keep up with the herd, but they soon distanced him, and 
1 was hurrying on in pursuit, when “bang!” goes Sebatis’s gun 
from behind some bushes, and down goes my caribou. 

‘‘T wounded that caribou, Sebatis; there were four others ahead 
of him.” 

‘“‘Sartin that’s too bad. I don’t see ‘im ’t all, only this one. You 
see | been look other side bushes, and when I hear gun I run this 
way; then I see caribou kin’ of limpin’, you see, an’ I think may be 
get away, so best shoot ’im more.” 

“Who kill ‘im that caribou? Two guns fire, on’y one caribou 
dead,” said a voice over my shoulder, in tones that could be none 
other than those of Tomah. 


Caribou - Hunting. 227 


‘Two bullets kill ’im that caribou sartin this time,” said Sebatis, 
pointing to two bullet-holes in the body of the poor caribou. 

‘“Where have you been, Tomah? We thought you were lost.” 

‘No, not lost. When I fin’ out wind wrong way, then I go in 
woods an’ come out head barren; turn ‘im caribou.” 

“ Did you get a shot at them ?” 

““Sartin, I kill im caribou.” 

“How many did you see?” 

“Bout tirteen. Five come this way, rest gone away somewhere, 
may be big barren. Sartin plenty caribou big barren to-morrow.” 

“Why do you say to-morrow ?” 

‘“’Cause caribou all travelin’ to-day. I see ’im tracks go every- 
where, an’ plenty sign bite ‘im moss, besides.” 

We cached the caribou killed by Sebatis and I, then tramped to 
the head of the barren and performed a like office for the one killed 
by Tomah,—a two-year-old buck,—then to camp, as it was too 
late in the day to try the big barren. 

“Now,” said Sebatis, after dinner and the invariable pipes, 
“Tomah an’ me go hunt ‘im wood an’ bark, make ‘im tobaugan, then 
we haul ‘im caribou camp. Keep ’im safe, you see.” 

During the night there was a fall of snow, which made the snow- 
shoeing heavy. However, we determined to try the big barren; and 
a weary day we had of it, tramping over the soft snow, which accu- 
mulated on the front of the snow-shoe and required quite an effort 
to throw it off. All traces of the old tracks were obliterated, and 
we did not see a fresh track that day, although we searched the 
greater part of the barren, being careful to disturb the snow as little 
as possible, as a show-shoe trail is almost certain to frighten off a 
herd of caribou. 

After patient watching and manifold observations obtained by 
climbing trees, the Indians at length, in despair, gave up hunting 
and took to their pipes. Although as much disappointed as they 
were, I well knew that it would be futile to urge them on to hunt 
until they recovered their spirits. Like two graven images, they sat 
puffing away at their pipes, and to all appearance might have con- 
tinued so doing until the crack of doom, but for an opportune crash, 
as of breaking branches, followed by a resounding fall that came 
from the forest, a little to the right of our position; and although 


228 Caribou - Hunting. 


they were well aware of the cause of the noise,—a lodged tree sud- 
denly released by the branches giving way and letting it fall to the 
ground,—it had the effect of waking them up and loosening their 
tongues. 

‘Sundown come pretty quick now ; best go camp,” said Sebatis. 

‘Best go camp,” echoed Tomah. 

And go to camp we did, in double-quick time, arriving just as 
darkness was closing in. 

There were several changes of weather during the night, first a 
drizzling rain, then a sharp frost, followed by more snow. 

‘“ Better luck to-day,” said Sebatis. ‘I dreamin’ last night, see 
‘im plenty caribou.” 

‘John very good han’ dreamin’; I like see ’im fin’ caribou first, 
then I ‘lieve him,” said Tomah. 

‘“Why does Tomah call you John?” I asked Sebatis. 

“Well, you see, I got t'ree—four—names, John Baptist Joseph, 
that’s my name.” 

‘Dreamin’ so hard he forgot his name,” said Tomah; ‘he got 
‘nother name ’sides, Saint John Baptist Joseph, that’s his name.” 

“Sartin, that’s true,” said Sebatis; ‘now, I ’member, I tell you 
all ‘bout it—used to be my name just same Tomah tell; well, you 
see, that pretty long name, then make ‘im shorter, call ‘im Saint 
Baptist; then make ’im shorter ‘gain, call ‘im Sebatis; s’pose, make 
‘um any shorter, by-em-by, name all gone.” 

‘Then, your surname—lI mean your family name—is Joseph ?” 

“ Sartin, my father, all my brothers, got same name, Joseph.” 

‘“Now, Sebatis got fix ’im his name ‘gain, s’pose he show us 
where find ’im caribou,” said Tomah. 

‘“ Sartin, snow most over, we go big barren ’gain.” 

The snow was greatly in our favor, as just enough had fallen to 
enable us to walk noiselessly on the crust. 

A very strange sensation is often experienced by the hunter as 
he walks unconcernedly on his way, after the formation of a crust ; 
at first he hears a peculiar creaking sound, and fancies that the snow 
is moving under him, then the creaking becomes louder, and is 
accompanied by a muffled, rumbling noise, and suddenly the snow 
under and around him sinks, and he fears that he is about to fall 
into an abyss. The snow in reality seldom settles over one foot or 


Caribou - Hunting. 229 


eighteen inches, and no matter how familiar one may be with it, 
every fresh experience excites the same apprehension. 

I had just been let down in that way, when my attention was 
attracted by Sebatis, and he beckoned me to where he and Tomah 
were examining something. 

“ Eight caribou all sleep here last night,” he said, pointing to a 
number of depressions in the snow. 

“How long since they started, Sebatis ?” 

“Start only little while, you see tracks so fresh. Always good 
time hunt ‘im when first started, ‘cause bite ’im moss an’ feedin’, then 
he don’t go fast ’t all 

“Best take ‘im off snow-shoes an’ walk in caribou tracks,” said 
Tomah. 

«“ Sartin that best, then don’t make no noise,” said Sebatis. 


” 


This mode of traveling is anything but agreeable, but as the 
snow was not very deep, it was greatly preferable to what I have 
often experienced on other occasions, when one would sink half-way 
to the knees at every step, and woe betide him if he made a false 
step! 

‘Caribou stop here feedin’ little while,” said Sebatis, pointing to 
some newly cropped “old men’s beard.” 

“ Caribou go two ways,” said Tomah, who was a little in advance. 

The herd had separated, three caribou going toward the big 
barren and five off in another direction. As it promised a better 
chance for game, | imitated the tactics of the caribou, and divided 
our party, taking Sebatis with me on the track of the five, and send- 
ing Tomah off after the others. 

Plodding along in the foot-holes of the caribou was very leg- 
tiring, but Sebatis kept on at a trot until brought to a stand by some 
very fresh sign. 

‘Caribou bite ‘im moss here only ‘bout t’ree minutes ago; must 
be handy somewhere; best put’im on snow-shoes again, may be have 
run pretty quick by-em-by.” 

After putting on his snow-shoes, Sebatis struck out in a direction 
nearly parallel to the caribou trail, and we set off at a very much 
quicker gait. 

We were just descending a slight declivity, when Sebatis waved 
his hand to me, exclaiming at the same time: 

I5A 


230 Caribou-FHunting. 


SEH-TA-GA-BO ! 


‘Seh-ta-ga-bo !” (Keep back.) 

At the word I dropped in my tracks and awaited further orders. 
Twice he raised his gun as if to fire, then lowered the muzzle and 
beckoned me to him. 

“What is it all about? Do you see the caribou?” I whispered. 

“Sartin, see ‘im all five walkin’ in woods just little ways "head. 
You look same way I point, by-em-by you see im.” 

We had just entered a glade of fir-trees, and between the tree- 
trunks I caught a glimpse of what I supposed to be a lake, but did 
not discover any caribou. 

“Hist! there goes caribou, there goes ‘nother one—two—tree 
more; you see im? Quick, fire!” 

Bang! goes my rifle at an indistinct form moving past the tree- 
trunks some thirty yards distant. 

“You kill im, sartin,” Sebatis whispered. ‘I see ’im give big . 
jump, then he don’t move ’t all. 

“Are the others gone ?” 


Caribou -Fluniting. 231 


‘No, scared pretty bad; stan’ listenin’ somewheres. By t’'unders! 
—look, you see ‘im caribou move on small bushes right on lake— 
fire |” 

“Blaze away, Sebatis. I don’t see them, and they will be off sure 
if you wait for me.” 

Bang! goes his smooth-bore with a roar that made me as deaf 
as an adder for the moment. 

“Did you kill him ?” 

‘May be so. Not sure, you see, so much smoke.” 

We hastened to the spot and found my caribou—a large buck 
—lying dead in his tracks. A little further on, Sebatis found a 
bloody trail leading down to the lake, and about one hundred yards 
from the shore we saw the other caribou 


a fine doe—vainly strug- 


gling to regain her feet on our approach. 
At the sight, I vowed that I would break my gun and never hunt 
again, until 


‘Here, Sebatis, take my rifle and finish your work quickly.” 

‘“‘ How far is it to the camp?” 

“Little mor’n four miles. I go get tobaugan, an’ bring some 
dinner. S’pose you stop here?” 

‘“Yes. Be as quick as you can.” 

“ Sartin, I go pretty quick. You see snowin’ again. By-em-by 
heavy storm, may be.” 

True to his promise, Sebatis returned inside of a couple of hours. 
With appetites born of the woods, we dispatched our lunch. Then 
to work to get our game to camp. The angry gusts of wind sough- 
ing through the lofty branches of the fir-trees, and driving the fast- 
falling snow into clouds of impalpable powder, warned us to hasten 
our packing. 

“Ready, now, no time spare. By-em-by storm so heavy, hard 
chance find ’im camp,” said Sebatis. He had fastened one end of 
a serviceable rope of withes to the tobaugan, passed part of it over 
his shoulder and gave me the other end to pass over mine, and away 
we tramped. 

These sudden winter storms possess the magic power of invest- 
ing the hunter with an indefinable terror. In a very short time all 
landmarks are obliterated and the air filled with a blinding powder. 
Now and then the snow settles under him with a crash, and he feels 


222 Caribou -lunting. 


as if there was nothing real or substantial around him. The bewil- 
dering, drifting powder is everywhere, and he is blinded and buffeted 
by it in such a manner as calls for the instant exertion of all his 
courage to carry him safely through. 

“ By t'unders! Never so glad get camp all my life. So tired, 
you see storm so heavy,” said Sebatis, as we rested before the 
camp-fire after our fearful four-mile tramp from the lake. 

The click of approaching snow-shoes announced the return of 
‘Tomah. 

“Who kill im that cari 

Just then he saw that there were two dead caribou, and, without 


another syllable, he shook the snow from his clothes and sat down 
by the fire. 


A SHOT FROM TOMAH. 


DEE R-EUNTING ON. THE AU “SABLE. 


By W. MACKAY LAFFIN. 


N invitation to a few weeks’ deer-shooting in the wilds of 
Michigan was not to be foregone. There had been occasional 
rumors heard in the East of the winter sports of the Michigan 

backwoods; rumors that had lost none of their attractiveness by 
their journey from the West, and which served to make the oppor- 
tunity, when it did arrive, wholly irresistible. [I was to join a party 
of gentlemen, who for several years have hunted upon the Au Sable 
River in northern Michigan, upon one of their annual trips; and we 
were all to meet upon an appointed day at Bay City, which is at the 
head, if head it can be called, of Saginaw Bay. Our route thence 
was by steamer to Tawas, and from Tawas by teams to the hunting- 
grounds in the Michigan backwoods. 

The steam-boat wharf at Bay City was full of bustle and activity. 
There were piles of baggage and numbers of anxious owners. Con- 
spicuous among the parcels were the gun-cases, some made of new 
pig leather or water-proofing, and evidently out for the first time, 
and others of weatherworn aspect, telling of many a campaign and 
of much serious usage. Every object upon the wharf and about the 
freight office to which a dog could be tied had a dog tied to it, and 
all these dogs were rearing, and plunging, and tugging at their 
chains, and giving vent to occasional sharp yells, in a condition of 
great excitement 


a feeling more or less shared by the numerous 
higher animals who were present. The crowd was composed of 
hunting parties bound for the backwoods by way of the various set- 
tlements on the Lake Huron side of the Michigan peninsula; of lum- 
bermen going to the camps; of farmers going home, and of the usual 


234 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


variety of more or less accentuated Western types. There was a 
good deal of confusion about it, and among it all our party met, and, 
after a few moments of spasmodic and pleasant welcome and the in- 
terchange of hearty greetings, we got on board the steamer. Our 
dogs, twelve in number, were safely bestowed between decks, and as 
remotely from the dogs of other people as possible; all our baggage 
was put away, nothing missing or forgotten, and we moved off from 
the wharf with that sense of entire comfort that is incident only to 
well-ordered and properly premeditated excursions. 


We had a delightful run up Saginaw Bay on a beautiful October 


ig 
evening, on which the sun went down with one of those gorgeous 
displays of color which England’s most eminent art critic has told us 
are seen but very seldom in a life-time. It was an impressive and 
singularly beautiful spectacle, but one of which our West is prodigal, 
and which is not consistent with insular conditions of fog and moist- 


ure. A note of admiration sounded within the captain’s hearing 


had the effect of eliciting his practical valuation of it. ‘ Humph!” 
he said, “rain like blazes all day to-morrow.” It was a matter of 


common regret that the barometric impressions of this worthy navi- 
gator were invariably correct. We made some stoppages at points 
upon the shore, where seemingly unaccountable wharves projected 
from the outskirts of desolation. At these we took off people who 
might have been fugitives from some new Siberia, and debarked 
people who might have been exiles going thither. But at half-past 
eight o'clock we reached East Tawas, where, as the boat came along- 
side, we were cheerily hailed out of the darkness by a mighty hunter 
of the wilderness named Curtis, who had come down with his stout 
team to meet us and help to carry our multifarious traps. We dis- 
embarked amid a dreadful howling of the dogs, who charged about 
in every direction, dragging their masters, in the darkness, over all 
manner of calamitous obstructions, regardless of kicks, cuffs, or vigor- 
ous exhortations. In half an hour we were comfortably ensconced 
in an inn with an enormous landlord, whose mighty girth shook with 
unctuous premonitions of an excellent supper. He produced half of 
a deer slain that very day, and gave us an earnest of our coming 
sport in the shape of a vast quantity of broiled venison, all of which 
we dutifully ate. 

Our captain—for we had a captain, as every well-constituted 


Deer-FHunting on the Au Sable. 225 


UP SAGINAW BAY. 


hunting-party should—was Mr. John Erwin, of Cleveland, a gentle- 
man at whose door lies the death of a grievous quantity of game of 
all kinds, and whose seventy years seem to have imparted vigor and 
activity to a yet stalwart and symmetrical frame. Hale, hearty, 
capable of enduring all manner of fatigue, unerring with his rifle, full 
of the craft of the woods and an inexhaustible fund of kindly humor, 
he was the soul of our party. We were under his orders the next 
day, and so remained until our hunt was over. He was implicitly 
obeyed; none of his orders were unpleasant; they simply implied 
the necessary discipline of the party. We left Tawas in the early 
morning. We had two wagons, one of which carried nine of us; the 
other, Curtis's, had the heavier baggage in it, and was accompanied 
by the remaining three on foot. They had the option of getting into 
the wagon by turns, if tired; but they were all good walkers. We 
had twenty-five miles to make to ‘‘ Thompson’s,” where we were to 
halt for the night, and on the following day proceed leisurely to Camp 
Erwin, six miles further. As we left Tawas it rained, according to 
our nautical prophet of the previous evening, and it continued to rain 
during the entire day. There is nothing particularly exhilarating in 
driving in a drenching rain, even when it is done under particularly 


236 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


favorable auspices. There was some novelty for one, to be sure, in 
the great wastes of scrub-oak, the groups of stout Norway pines, the 
white birch, the maples, the spruce-pines, and the beeches, glistening 
in the impenetrable jungles of tangled undergrowth, and in the iteration 
and reiteration of landscapes with no landmark or peculiarity whereby 
one might distinguish one from the other. All this was in one sense 
a novelty, inasmuch as one might never have seen anything like it 
before; but the enjoyment of it, were it really susceptible of being 
enjoyed, was marred by the steadiness with which the cold rain beat 
in our faces; extinguishing cigars and making pipes a doubtful bless- 
ing; drenching everything exposed to it, and imparting that peculiar 
chill to which mind and body are alike liable under such conditions. 
One of our party, a veritable Mark Tapley, who was sure to ‘come 
out strong” under the most discouraging conditions, whistled fugi- 
tive airs in a resolute way; but they got damp and degenerated into 
funereal measures, suggesting that possibly the Dead March in 
“Saul” was originally conceived in a spirit of inferior vivacity or 
sprightly insincerity, and becoming wet had been recognized as a 
thing of merit, and had therefore been permanently saturated for use 
on occasions of public grief. Another dispiriting element was the 
road, of which a large part was what is known as ‘‘corduroy,” from 
some obscure resemblance, which does not exist, between its struct- 
ure and a certain well-known fabric affected by“ horsey” gentlemen. 
The jolting we got over this was painful to a degree which it is dis- 
agreeable to recall. It jarred every bone in one’s body, and embit- 
tered the whole aspect of life. It alternated with a series of 
diabolical mud-holes, into which we dived, and rocked, and swayed, 
and splashed interminably. Bunyan’s Slough of Despond is all very 
well in its way, but the possibilities of figurative description of that 
kind are as a closed book to one who has never ridden on a corduroy 
road in a wagon with inferior springs. At last, we emerged on a 
higher plateau of sand, and left the marsh behind us for good. The 
rain had become a milder and tolerable evil, compared to the swamp 
road. All was sand, but the wet made it ‘ pack” beneath the 
horses’ feet and the wheels, and we went over it at an excellent pace. 
Around us was the Michigan forest in all its wonderful variety of 
growth and richness, and in all its drear monotony and desolation. 
Grass there was in tufts, and thin and poor. Thick gray lichens and 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 227 


starving mosses strove to cover up the thankless sand, but nothing 
seemed to prosper in it but the trees, for which it held mysterious 
sustenance where their deep roots could reach it. But even they 
made an unlovely forest. The great fires that sweep across this re 
gion leave hideous scars behind them. One sees for miles and miles 
the sandy plain covered with the charred trunks of the fallen forest. 
Great lofty pines, whose stems are blackened from the root as high 
as the fire has reached,—huge, distorted, and disfigured,—stand 
gloomily above their moldering brethren, their white skeletons ex- 
tending their dead and broken arms, in mute testimony of lost grace 
and beauty. Nothing could be more desolate than these ‘ burnings,” 
as they are called. They present an aspect of such utter, hopeless 
dreariness, and such complete and painful solitude, as one might 
imagine to exist only within the frozen circle of the Arctic. 

The rain continued and wet us until we began to get on good 
terms with it, as if we were Alaskans or Aleuts, and rather liked it. 
Besides, we got stirred up over the deer-tracks in the sand. They 
were very numerous and fresh, and one or two rifles were loaded in 
hopes of a shot at one ‘‘on the wing.” None came in sight, how- 
ever, and the undergrowth and scrub-oaks effectually kept them 
from our view. 

At half-past one o'clock, after a few premonitory symptoms in 
the shape of fences, of which the purpose was obscure, since they 
hedged in nothing, and looked as if they had only been put up for 
fun or practice, we came suddenly to the edge of a basin or depres- 
sion in the plateau over which we had been driving, and there, 
beneath us, lay Thompson's. Here in the midst of the wilderness 
was a prosperous, healthy-looking farm, actually yielding vegetables 
and cereals, and having about it all manner of horses, cows, pigs, 
hay-stacks, barns, dogs to bark, pumpkins, and all the other estab- 
lished characteristics of a well-regulated farm. We rattled down the 
declivity to the house and met with a hearty welcome, most of the 
party having known Thompson for years. He is a bluff, hearty 
backwoodsman, whom years of uninterrupted prosperity have made 
rich. He owns thousands of acres of timber-land, and his house is 
known far and wide as the best hotel in Michigan. Mrs. Thomp- 
son is not exactly a backwoodswoman ; indeed, she is quite as much 
of a surprise to one as is the place itself. She is an excellent lady, 


238 Deer-Flunting on the Au Sable. 


and her refining influence has been felt in a very marked degree in 
that wild region. She can shoot, though. Indeed, she handles a 
rifle with the greatest coolness and _ skill,—thinks nothing of knock- 
ing over a deer, and confesses to aspirations in the direction of bear. 
Mr. Thompson’s welcome in the course of an hour took a practical 
form, when we all sat down to a magnificent roast of venison, broiled 
chickens, and the most delicious of vegetables ; for it seems that when 
one does get a bit of Michigan land which will consent to be culti- 
vated, it turns out to be remarkably good land indeed. There were 
great glass pitchers of excellent milk upon the table, similar pitchers 
of real cream, and everything was neatly served. The table-cloth 
was fine and of snowy whiteness, the napkins (this in the heart of a 
Michigan wilderness! ) ditto, and everything just as it should be, and 
just as one would least have expected to find it. 

Thompson’s hands came in the evening,—Canadians, for the 
most part, and talking an inexplicable jargon called French. Reén- 
forced by a few lumbermen and trappers, they filled the big, dimly 
lighted room which would ordinarily be called the bar-room, but 
which, having no bar, owing to Mrs. Thompson’s way of inculcating 
temperance principles, cannot so be called. They were noisy, well- 
behaved, and good-humored, and they crowded around the stove, 
and bedewed it pleasantly and copiously with infusion of Virginia 
plug. There was a great deal of talk about lumber; how many feet 
such-and-such an one expected to ‘‘ get out”; where such-and-such 
camps were about to be located; the prospect of sufficient snow to 
move the heavy lumber-sleighs, and a variety of topics that had 
more or less sawdust in their composition. They spoke with loud, 
individual self-assertion, and there was a curious touch of defiance in 
every sentence that involved a direct proposition. This quality of 
their speech, coupled with a degree of profanity which was simply 
startling in its originality, its redundancy, and its obscurity of pur- 
pose, made a stranger feel as if a fight might occur at any moment. 
But there is no danger of anything of the kind. They live in this 
atmosphere of exploitation and brag, with entire amicability and 
good nature, and only fight when the camps break up and the men 
are paid off. Then they congregate at the lake settlements and 
elsewhere, and get frightfully drunk for weeks, and shoot and stab 
with a liberality and self-abnegation that suggest that they ought 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 239 


to have a literature built for them like that which a kind and artistic 
hand has so deftly erected for the favored.miner of the Pacific slope. 

A curious effect which this native windiness produces upon the 
stranger who comes to hunt is, that after a week of it he finds him- 
self impelled to the conclusion that he has shot the only small deer 


A LUMBER-SLED. 


there are in the State. We could not meet a man in the country all 
about that had ever seen a small deer. The word fawn, from desue- 
tude, will be dropped from their language. It was always ‘the 
blankest biggest buck! blank me!” or “the blank, blankest blank of 
a blank of a blank doe! running like blank and blankation for the 
blank river!” » That was all we could ever get; and when perchance 
one of these identical, peculiarly qualified animals happened to be 
shot, the speaker stood wholly unabashed and unconscious in the 
presence of his refutation. 

We left Thompson’s hospitable place the next morning after an 
early breakfast. Curtis and his team carried all our traps, and after 
a tramp of two hours or so over the wet sand and through the deso- 
late “burnings,” we arrived at Camp Erwin. It is a deserted logging 
camp. The building on the left, in the little sketch I have made, is 


240 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


CAMP ERWIN. 


a rickety old barn; that behind it is a blacksmith’s shop, and the 
remaining house is that in which we had our quarters. It contains, 
on the upper floor, one large and finely ventilated apartment; and 
below, the kitchen, dining, and “living” room and two small bed- 
rooms. One of these was occupied by Mr. and Mrs. William Bam- 
field, the latter of whom had engaged to cook for our party, while 
the former, a stalwart and extraordinarily powerful backwoodsman, 
chopper, and blacksmith, “assisted,” and made himself indispensable 
by his general handiness and utility, his readiness to do anything 
and everything, his good humor, and his entire novelty. Recurring 
to my sketch again: the stream in the foreground flows a mile away 
into the Au Sable (pronounced up here Sawble, the Au, too, being 
generally dropped), and around the house, as far as one may see, is 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 241 


the everlasting “burning.” In summer, all is dry, yellow sand; in 
winter, a mantle of snow sometimes covers it charitably and conceals 
some of the blackness and deformity of the dead pines. 


ON THE AU SABLE. 


The first day in camp was devoted to unpacking our traps and 
provisions, filling our ticks with straw, disposing handily of our 
various knickknacks, overhauling the rifles, and wasting ammunition 
under excuse of getting one’s hand in. My share being accom- 
plished at noon, some of us started down to take a look at the Au 
Sable River. After a walk of fifteen minutes or so, we came out of 
the forest abruptly on the edge of a high sand-bluff, and there it lay 
about one hundred and fifty feet below us. It came around a short 
bend above ; it Swept around another in front of us, and below us it 
wound around a third. Its waters were the color of dark-brown 
sherry, and its current was silent, swift, and powerful. Beyond, the 
bank was low, and the forest stretched back over successions of 
slightly rising plateaus to the horizon. Here and there one could 
see the scars of the fires, and a sinuous track of the darkest foliage 

16 


242 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


revealed the tortuous course of the Au Sable. This description would 
seem to apply well enough to the sketch I have made, but it was taken 
from a higher bluff some few miles further down the river. From any 
similar elevation upon its banks the scene would be the same. Save 
that the river gains in volume as it travels, its scenery throughout 
almost its entire length does not vary. It is a succession of inter- 
minable twists and turns past high or low bluffs of sand, long reaches 
of “cedar-swamp,” and “sweepers” innumerable. This singular river 
is one that knows neither droughts nor freshets, which is always cold, 
but never freezes, and which will always preserve its wildness and its 
desolation, since, in the future, the wilderness through which it flows 
will be even wilder and more desolate than it is now. 

The first evening in camp, around the council lamp, was spent 
in discussing the prospects of the morrow, in shooting over again all 
the deer that had been shot upon previous occasions, in comparing the 
target shooting of the day, and in the assignment by the captain of 
each man to his position on the river. Curtis and two of our party 
were to “put out the dogs,” and the rest were to be stationed at the 
different run-ways. This explains the method of hunting. The river 
for a certain number of miles was divided into run-ways or points, 
at which deer, when hard pressed by the dogs, would probably take 
to the water and afford a chance for a shot. The dogs, twelve in 
number, were divided among those who were to have charge of them 
for the day, and they took them in various directions into the forest. 
When a fresh and promising track was discovered, a dog was let 
loose upon it, or perhaps two dogs, and the deer, after a run of 
greater or less duration, took to the river in order to elude pursuit. 
If it went in at a guarded run-way, it stood an excellent chance of 
being shot; but, of course, a large majority of deer driven in entered 
the river above or below, or crossed it shortly after reaching it. 

A tick filled with straw and laid upon the floor makes an 
excellent bed, and sportsmen’s consciences are always good, for they 
sleep with exceeding soundness. The ventilation of the apartment was 
generous in the extreme. The roof was tight, but all around were 
the open chinks between the logs, and through these the stars could 
be seen by anybody that had nothing better to do than look at them. 
Up through the middle of the floor and out through a big hole at the 
ridge-pole went the stove-pipe, always hot enough to worry an 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 243 


insurance man, and an excellent spot to hang wet clothes. Else- 
where it was as cold as charity, and I supplemented my blankets 
with my heavy frieze ulster, and went to sleep to dream of giant 
bucks and a rifle that wouldn't go off. 

The Michigan forests abound in a variety of game, but the ani- 
mals that are valued for their fur have been thinned out by trappers, 
who, in turn, have disappeared to newer hunting-fields. One still 
finds the beaver, marten, fisher, lynx, and others. Bears are quite 
numerous, and there are plenty of wolves. Rabbits and Arctic hares 
and ruffed grouse exist in great numbers. The elk has almost 
wholly disappeared from the peninsula, but I heard that some were 
occasionally found in the extreme northern portion, and I saw a 
magnificent pair of antlers, having a spread of nearly six feet, which a 
half-breed had found imbedded in the trunk of a cedar-tree. The 
skin of the head and the greater portion of the skull were attached, 
the remainder having been torn away and scattered by wolves. 
The deer of the region is the Cervus Virgintanus, or common deer 
of America, which is distributed over such a large area of our conti- 
nent. It probably attains its greatest weight in Michigan. I learned, 
from credible sources, of bucks which weighed over two hundred and 
fifty pounds. Judge John Dean Caton, in his admirable work on the 
deer and antelope of America, speaks of having killed a buck in 
Wisconsin that was estimated to weigh two hundred and fifty pounds, 
and adds that the largest common deer of which he had any authentic 
account was killed in Michigan and weighed, undressed, two hun- 
dred and forty-six pounds. Of the deer killed by our party, there 
were no less than three that weighed over two hundred and twenty- 
five pounds. It is the most beautiful of the cevvzde, and in its 
graceful carriage, its exquisite agility, and the delicacy and sym- 
metry of its form, no other animal approaches it. It varies some- 
what, of course; but the buck, with the shorter legs, the rounded 
and compact body, the tapering nose and the well-erected, open 
antlers is the proudest and handsomest animal of the forest. The 
eye of the deer is large and has the softest and most tender of ex- 
pressions. The marked convexity of the ball, the deep, calm, and 
gentle radiance of the iris, and the length of the shadow-line from 
the larmier to the posterior angle of the lids make up the more obvi- 
ous anatomy of this amiability. In the rutting season, which occurs 


244 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


during the earlier part of the winter, the bucks discard their gentle- 
ness in a great measure and fight in the fiercest way. It is doubtful 
if they ever kill or seriously injure each other, formidable as their 
antlers are when they have sharpened and polished them by persist- 
ent rubbing against the bark of young trees. They charge at each 
other, head down, and meet with a crash, and then stand or walk 
round and round in a circle, with interlocked antlers, swaying to and 
fro, and moodily watching each other’s every movement. They con- 
tinue at this sort of thing for hours, and superior prowess is more 
a matter of endurance and pertinacity than anything else. It would 
seem that the buck that holds out the longer completely wears out 
and exhausts his antagonist, who then withdraws and leaves him 
victor,—whereby the stronger and more favored males carry off the 
females and beget offspring possessed, by heredity and otherwise, 
of the same characteristics. The argument finds a strong illustra- 
tion in the case of the deer, and backwoodsmen say that the younger 
and weaker males go unmated and are constantly being pursued and 
driven about by the stronger and older bucks. Some of these com- 
bats between the bucks result in mutual disaster when the antlers 
interlock and they are unable to withdraw from each other. They 
probably could if they made the effort at once, but they butt and 
push at each other, and each so studiously avoids giving the other 
an opening, that both are too exhausted to make the effort at separa- 
tion, and there they remain until the wolves arrive on the scene 
and close the drama. Our backwoodsman had recently found two 
bleached skulls with antlers fast in each other’s embrace, mutely tell- 
ing a dark tale of love, jealousy, and a wedding unavoidably post- 
poned. The fawns, betraying by their spots a former characteristic 
of their species, are timid, pretty little things. They do not seem to 
have the instinct which leads the adult animal to the water when 
pursued, and consequently when a dog gets on the scent of a fawn, 
he will hunt it bootlessly for hours, to the great annoyance of his 
master. A young fawn, just born, knows no fear of man. If picked 
up, fondled a few minutes, and carried a little distance, it will, when 
put down, follow a man just as it would its mother. 

A tremendous uproar awoke me at the moment when for the 
hundredth time my rifle had exasperated me. It was Mr. B., shout- 
ing, “ Breakfast! breakfast! Turn out for breakfast! The captain’s 


Deer-Flunting on the Au Sable. 245 


up and waiting!” It was half-past four, and everybody woke up at 
the summons, as-was indeed unavoidable. There was a scratching 
of matches and a discordant chorus of those sounds which people 
make when they are forcibly awakened and made to get up in the 
cold, unusual morning. Down-stairs there was a prodigious sizzling 
and sputtering going on, and the light through the chinks in the 
floor betrayed Mrs. Bamfield and her frying-pans and coffee-pot, all 
in full blast. Somebody projected his head through an immature 
window into the outer air and brought it in again to remark that it 
rained. A second observation made it rain and snow, and rain and 
snow It was, 


a light, steady fall of both. We were all down-stairs 
in a few minutes and outside, making a rudimentary toilet with ice- 
water and a bar of soap. Breakfast was ready,—plenty of rashers 
of bacon, fried and boiled potatoes, fried onions, bread and _ butter, 
and coffee, hot and strong. These were speedily disposed of. Coats 
were buttoned up, rubber blankets and ammunition belts slung over 
shoulders, cartridge magazines filled, hatchets stuck into belts, rifles 
shouldered, and out we sallied into the darkness, through which the 
faintest glimmer of gray was just showing in the east. Half an hour 
or so later, by the time we had gotten to our run-ways, the dogs 
would be put out. Off we trudged over the wet, packed sand of the 
tote-road, the gray dawn breaking dismally through the wilderness. 
Leaving the road, we struck into the pines, and a walk of a mile 
through the thick sweet-fern, which drenched one to the waist, 
brought us to the edge of the cedar swamp by the river. The 
narrow belt of low bottom-land on each side of the river is called 
Cedar Swamp. It is a jungle through which it is extremely difficult 
to progress, and in which one may very readily lose one’s bearings. 
Great cedars grow in it up to the water's edge, and as thickly as they 
can well stand. .Among them lie fallen trees in every stage of decay, 
heaped one upon another in inextricable and hopeless ruin and con- 
fusion. There are leaning cedars that have partly toppled over and 
rested against their stouter fellows, and there are cedars that seem 
to have fallen and only partly risen again. Their trunks run for 
several feet along the ground and then stretch up toward the light, 
in a vain effort to become erect once more. These trunks and all 
the fallen giants are covered with a thick carpet of the softest moss ; 
everything, in fact, is covered with it, and here and there it opens, 
I6A 


246 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


and down in the rich mold is a glimpse of a bright little wine- 
colored, trickling stream stealing in and out among the cedar roots 
and losing itself in miniature tunnels and caverns on its way to the 
river outside. One’s footfall is noiseless, except when a branch 
beneath the moss breaks, and the sunlight struggles but feebly down 


through the trunks and dense foliage above. Sometimes the walking 
is treacherous, and the giant forms that lie about are hollow mock- 
eries and deceptions beneath their pretty wrapping of green. Stand- 
ing upon one of these, and doubtful whether to attempt a leap or 
more circumspectly climb to my next vantage-point, I executed a 
sudden disappearance, much after the fashion of a harlequin in a 
pantomime. A hole opened beneath my feet, and I shot through 
that hollow shell into the swamp beneath, leaving my broad-brimmed 
hat to cover the aperture by which I made my exit. 

After a couple of hundred yards of climb, crawl, and tumble 
through one of these swamps, my companion took his place under 
the shelter of the cedars, and indicated mine at a little distance up 
the river. It was one of the best of our run-ways,—a long stretch of 
open bank, where the cedar swamp did not reach the river's edge. 
I got there, took my stand, and indulged in expectation. The exer- 
tion of getting through the swamp had warmed me uncomfortably, 


Deer-flunting on the Au Sable. 247 


but I soon ceased to 
regard that as an 
objection. The place 


was exposed; there 
was no shelter; the 
cold wind and the 
driving snow and 
rain had it all 
their own way 
with me. My 
hands became 
numb, and _ the 
metal of my rifle 


UNDER THE CEDARS. 


stung them. I did not put on my 
heavy gloves, lest a deer should 
come and they should prove an awkward impediment. I stood 
my rifle against a tree, stuck them in my pockets, and watched 
the river, while my teeth chattered like miniature castanets. The 
wind howled down through the trees, and clouds of yellow and 
russet leaves came sailing into the river and hurried away upon 
its surface. I was undeniably, miserably cold. But hark! I 
seized my rifle. Yes, there it was, sure enough, the bay of a 
dog in the distance! I forgot to be cold. Nearer it came, and 
nearer and nearer, and each moment I thought would bring the 
deer crashing through the thickets into the river. Nearer and nearer 
the dogs came, until their deep bays resounded and echoed through 
the forest as if they were in a great hall. But no deer appeared, and 
the dogs held their course, on, down, parallel with the river. ‘‘ Bet- 
ter luck next time,” I said to myself, somewhat disconsolately ; but | 
was disappointed. Presently the sharp, ringing crack of a rifle rang 
out and reverberated across the forest; another and another followed; 
and as I began to get cold again, I tried to console myself by medi- 
tating on the luck of other people. I stamped my feet; I did the 
London cabman’s exercise with my hands and arms; I drew beads 


248 Deer-Hiunting on the Au Sable. 


HUNG UP. 


on all manner of objects; but steadfastly | watched the river, and 
steadfastly I listened for the dogs. The snow and rain abated, and 
the hours went by; and stiff and chilled was I when, at half-past 
twelve, young Curtis’s canoe came poling up the river to pick up 
deer if any had been shot above, and had lodged in the drift-wood, 
instead of floating down to his watching-place, three miles below. 
The dogs were all in, he said, and the doctor had shot a big buck 
and a fawn. 

At camp, the doctor was the center of an animated circle. He 
was most unreasonably composed, as I thought, and told us, with 


Deer-Flunting on the Au Sable. 249 


his German equanimity, how Jack and Pedro had run in a large 
buck, which immediately swam down the middle of the river. He 
fired from his place on the side of a bluff and missed. At the 
second shot, he succeeded in hitting the deer in the neck just below 
the mastoid something or other. As if this were not sufficient, there 
presently appeared and crossed the river a very pretty fawn, whose 
young hopes were promptly blighted. They said it was not always 
that the first day yielded even one deer, and it was an excellent 
augury. During the afternoon, Curtis brought both deer up to 
camp and dressed them. The buck was finely antlered and was 
estimated to weigh over two hundred pounds. 

The next day I was appointed to the same run-way, and I took 
my stand, and, acting on the advice of the others, built a brave little 
fire. Deer being driven into the river or swimming down it pay no 
attention to a small fire, and the making of it and the keeping it 
alive furnish excellent occupation. Indeed, there is something quite 
fascinating about building a fire in the woods, and it is quite 
inexplicable what a deep concern all the little details of its com- 
bustion create in even really thoughtful minds. My fire burned 
cheerily and blew lots of sharp smoke into my eyes, with the aid of 
the fitful wind; but I was not called upon to shoot any deer. I did 
not even hear the dogs, and at two o'clock I went home to camp, 
persuaded that I had not yet learned to appreciate our style of 
hunting. Our captain had a handsome young buck and was in a 
wholly comfortable frame of mind. 

We had a larded saddle of venison during the afternoon for 
dinner. It was flanked by a dish of steaming bacon and cabbage 
and quantities of mealy potatoes and fried onions. The fragrance 
that filled the air of the cabin surpassed the most delicate of vapors 
that ever escaped from one of Delmonico’s covers, and we fell upon 
the table with appetites like that of the gifted ostrich. The air of the 
Sable would be worth any amount of money in New York. 

The next day I passed in a meditative fashion on my run-way. I 
was not disturbed by any deer, but Mr. M. and Mr. B. each scored 
one. The next evening, one of the dogs, foot-sore and worn out, 
remained in the woods. His master and one other sallied out into the 
inky darkness to look for him at points near which they deemed it 
probable he would have lain down. They took a lantern, without 


250 Deev-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


A GENERAL SURPRISE. 


which it would have been impossible to walk, and after a fruitless 
search, extending to a distance of three miles or so, turned back. 
Suddenly they heard light footfalls in the tote-road, and with two 
or three beautiful bounds a young doe alighted within the circle 
illuminated by the lantern, approached it in wide-eyed wonder, and 
almost touched it with her nose. A young spike-horn buck followed 
her, and both stared at the light, their nostrils dilated and quivering, 
and every limb trembling with mingled excitement and fear. There 
was an exclamation that could not be suppressed, a vain effort to 
shoot, and the deer were gone like a flash into the darkness. It was 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 251 


curious to hear both gentlemen, on returning to camp, protesting 
that to have shot deer under such circumstances would have been 
wholly unsportsmanlike. 

It was upon my sixth day, when a dozen deer were hanging in 
the barn, and I, quite guiltless of the death of even one of them, 
had gone to the river. The hours passed tediously up to noon, 
when I heard a splash, and saw a deer take the water three hundred 
yards or so above me. She was a large doe and came down the 
middle of the river, swimming rapidly and looking anxiously from 
side to side. I felt unutterable things, and just as she got abreast 
of me I brought up my Winchester and fired. She sank, coming up 
again some little distance down, and floated quietly away out of my 
sight around the bend. This performance produced a sense of 
pleasant inflation. All my fears were dispelled, and I felt a keen 
desire for the presence of others to whom to impart the agreeable 
fact. It was one of these things about which one always feels as if 
he could not, unaided, sufficiently gloat upon it. At half-past twelve, 
the canoe came around the bend, and I prepared to be indifferent, as 
should become a person who could shoot deer every day if only he 
were so minded. Strange, I thought, that the legs do not project 
over the side of the canoe, and how is it that At this moment 
the canoe gave a lurch, and I saw young Curtis’s coat with painful 
distinctness lying in the bottom of it—nothing else. I immediately 
inferred that he had missed the deer among some drift-logs as he 
came up. He protested he had not, but agreed to go back and 
search. I went with him, and just a few yards around the bend we 
found in the oozy bank tracks which indicated that the animal had 
fallen to its knees in leaving the water, and up the bank to the top a 
trail marked with blood. The remarks of Mr. Curtis, though fluent 


and vigorous, were inadequate to the occasion. I was in a condition 
of unbounded exasperation, For a little distance through the grass 
and the bushes the marks could be seen plainly enough, but there 
they disappeared, and that was the last I saw of my deer. The cap- 
tain put two dogs out on the trail that afternoon, but the wounded 
animal had probably died in some dense thicket, for they soon re- 
turned without having run any great distance. Four fine deer were 
killed the next day, without any participation upon my part, and in 
the evening some of us, with lanterns, went down to the river to 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


N 
O1 
N 


A TORCH OF THE AU SABLE. 


secure one that had lodged somewhere in the drift-wood.. We 
found it, by the light of the birch-bark. As we made our way along 
the bank, our backwoodsman would pick out here and there a large 
white birch, and apply a match to the curling ringlets of bark at the 
foot of its trunk. Ina minute the whole stem of the tree was in a 
roaring blaze, that lit up the river-bank all round about and made 
the great cedars look like gigantic skeletons. Each birch was a brill- 
iant spectacle, while it burned in a crackling, sparkling column of 
flame, sending showers of sparks through the forest, and then dying 
out in an angry red and a cloud of murky smoke. Our deer was 


found, dressed, and hung up on a dead cedar, out of the reach of 


oO 
5 


1 
predatory animals; and we went home to camp by the light of our 
lanterns. 


Deer-Flunting on the Au Sable. 253 


Next morning I was at my place, still unsubdued and hopeful. | 
heard a shot fired on the river below me; I heard the baying of the 
dogs, and listened to it as it died away in the direction of some other 
run-way. But I watched steadily ; and as I watched, | saw the brush 
about some cedar roots open, and out there sprang into the shallow 
water a noble buck. He was a stalwart, thick-set fellow; his legs 
were short and compact, his fur was dark in its winter hue, and his 
antlers glistened above his head. He bore himself proudly as he 
stood in the water and turned to listen for the bay of the dogs he 
had outrun. I hesitated a moment, doubtful if I should let him get 
into the stream and swim down, or shoot at him as he stood. I chose 
the latter, aimed quietly and confidently, and fired. He pitched for- 
ward, the current seized him, and he floated down with it and past 
me, dead. In eight minutes, by my watch, Mr. M 's Jack came 
to the bank, at the spot where the buck had come in, and howled 
grievously over the lost scent. He was worn out and battered, and 
he came to me gladly when I called him. I had brought some 
luncheon down with me that morning, and I must confess that I was 
weak enough to give Jack every bit of it. 

That afternoon, when I reached camp, I found that I was the last 
to come in, and that my buck had already been seen and his size 
noted. I was received with acclamations, and a proposition to gird 
me, as a measure of affected precaution, with the hoops of a flour- 
barrel was made and partly carried into execution. There were 
sung, moreover, sundry snatches of the forester’s chorus from “ As 


Wow like It=: 


“What shall he have that killed the deer?” 


Of the Au Sable as a navigable river, I am pained to state that 
I cannot speak in a way calculated to allure people thither for the 
purpose of sailing upon it. Three of us were induced by our back- 
woodsman to embark upon a raft and make a run of fifteen miles to 
Thompson’s. We did so, and failed to acquire upon the journey any 
marked prejudice in favor of that particular form of navigation. Ce- 
dars growing at the water’s edge have their roots more or less under- 
mined, and some of them fall gradually outward over the river, their 
branches hanging in the current and becoming denuded of their foli- 
age, or dying. The trunk or stem of the tree is in some cases parallel 


254 Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 


with the water’s surface, and in others it dips below it or inclines 
gradually upward from it. These trees have been named, with a 
nice sense of the fitness of terms, ‘‘sweepers.” We found them such. 
Our raft was guided by poles, one aft and the 
other forward. A vigorous use of these might 
have had something to do with determining the 
course of the craft, but one was dropped and 
another broken, and she forthwith proceeded to 
: work her sweet will of us. She 
seemed possessed of a mis- 
chievous intelligence, and if an 
obstruction came in view, made 
directly for it. 
There was gen- 
erally room for 
her to pass be- 


neatha ‘“‘sweep- 
er,” which she 
always did; but 
it was different | - 
withithe passen=s ll. ssemeen! 


gers, who, with a couple of un- 
happy dogs, were rasped from one 
end of her to the other, some- 
times into the water, and some- 
times only half into it, but always 


holding on to the logs with grim desperation. 

When the day arrived for breaking up camp, 
we had hung up in our barn twenty-three deer, 
my buck being accorded the place of honor at 
the head of the line. Our dogs were rather 
the worse for wear, but all were there, which is something un- 
usual at the end of a hunt in this part of the country. The fact 
is, the natives discourage hunting with dogs, if not, indeed, all 
hunting in which they themselves do not participate. They place 
meat which contains strychnine on the deer-paths, and also, when 
occasion offers, shoot the dogs. A party of gentlemen from Bay 
City came into our neighborhood a few days later than we 


Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 255 


did. They contemplated a three weeks’ hunt, but during the first 
three days had two dogs shot and three poisoned. Some years 
ago, a party of Ohio people lost their dogs in the same way, and, 
unluckily for the active toxicologist, they found out who he was. 
When I passed that way he had rebuilt his barns and various out- 
buildings, and it was thought that, until the region commanded the 
services of a reliable insurance company, he would abstain from the 
use of strychnine. The immunity our party enjoyed had been gained 
somewhat as an ancient proprietary right, they having hunted there 
for so many years. Besides, they had in various ways rendered 
themselves popular with the natives; no visitor ever left the camp 
hungry or thirsty; and the Herr Doctor's periodicity was a matter 
of importance to a widely spread, if not numerous, community. 
They saved up fractures of six months’ standing for him, and events 
of a more strictly domestic nature seemed to happen adventitiously 
during his hunting sojourn. 

We brought out our venison safely and in good condition,—a 
ton and a half of it or thereabouts. At Detroit, we went our ways, 
ending an expedition which had in it, luckily, no mishap to mar it, 
but plenty of wholesome recreation to make one’s recollection of it 
wholly pleasant. 


A TON AND A HALF OF VENISON. 


MUNTING THE MULE-DEER IN COLORADO. 


AYS a well-known sportsman,* in a work recently issued for 
the use of the fraternity, ‘‘Good hunting is at present scarcely 
to be found east of the Missouri River. West of that stream, 

however, there is a wide extent of territory in many parts of which 
game may still be found in considerable abundance by those who are 
sufficiently acquainted with the country to know where to look for 
it. * * * As things stand at present, the country where game 
most abounds is that which is now, or lately has been, infested by 
the Indians. * * * The Indians are the only real game preservers 
in the West.” 

That portion of the new State of Colorado lying west of the main 
range and north of the San Juan mining region is perhaps one of 
the very best of these localities; certainly the most accessible and 
practicable at a moderate expenditure of money and time. Here 
in four days, by rail from New York City, one may mount a well- 
trained animal and plunge at once into the primeval wilds. Here 
are the gate-ways of the great parks, in and surrounding which are 
thousands of square miles suited by nature to the purpose of a 
stronghold from which the game can never be wholly driven. Just 
within its farther limit is the Ute reservation, and its bulk is almost 
debatable ground,—the Indians hunting here, and loath to yield to 
the whites entire possession of their richest grounds and their great 
medicine waters, the Hot Springs of Middle Park. Legislation has 
been pending for a few years past, which will probably limit these 


* Charles Hallock, of “ Forest and Stream,” in “ The Sportsman’s Gazeteer,” pages 
71 and 74: 
17 


258 Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


friendly savages to a more remote point, and then the most timid of 
pilgrims may revel in the plenty of a region where | have seen five 
thousand elk in view at once,—the number estimated by men of life- 


long experience as herders,—and where | have known one man to 
kill forty bulls at a single stand. May a merciful Providence impel 
our legislators to invent some means of controlling the waste of this 
wealth! But, as I have said, total extermination is impossible. 
This is demonstrated in the case of the animal I am about to 
describe, which persists in using even those foot-hill regions of 
Boulder County, where mining, milling, grazing, and agriculture 
make together one of the thriftiest localities of the new West. Year 
after year he continues to startle the plowman or the herders by his 
sudden appearance, and a fortunate pistol-shot sometimes secures 
him for the larder; but of hunting, properly, there is little done now 
in the regions of the great tellurium discoveries, that have converted 
into swarming camps the hills over which, during my novitiate, I 
ranged with Hank Green, the Tourtillots, ‘“ Big” Osborne, and old 
Levi Van Rensselaer. If any of the Boulder boys wish to enjoy 
a good old-fashioned hunt to-day they go up to St. Vrains, Big 
Thompson, or the Cache La Poudre, or over the range into North or 
Middle Park. From this region west and south is the heart of the 
hunting, particularly in that portion reached by the Gunnison and 
its tributaries. Here roam all the varieties of game animals known 
to this latitude in America, with, I believe, one exception: the red, 
or Virginia, deer has never been found west of the range, except as a 
mongrel. If desirable, the element of danger may be sought in pur- 
suit of the range and cinnamon,—the first a cousin of the true Ursus 
horribilis, somewhat stunted by change of habitat, but none the less 
ugly,—or the less ferocious brown and black bears, or the puma (of 
whom beware!), or the other cats and lynxes, or the sluggish but 
courageous wolverine. 

The mule-deer does not bear an undisputed name. 1 knew him 
at first as the black-tail, as he is almost universally called here. A 
recent issue of the “Rocky Mountain News” contains an indignant 
protest from one of our hunters against the liberty ‘‘ eastern ” nat- 
uralists have taken in rechristening, as he supposes, this animal. 
The fact is, however, that whether the difference claimed between 
this variety and that of the Pacific coast * really exists or not, the 


_* Cariacus Columbianus, or black-tail deer. 


Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 259 


HEAD OF THE MULE-DEER. 


name mule-deer was recorded by Captains Lewis and Clark in their 
reports of the expeditions of 1804 and 1806, in which this animal, 
with the black-tail and Virginia deer, are fully described, with their 
mixtures and variations and respective limits of habitat. Probably 
the two, with the éw7ro* deer of Arizona, may prove to be merely 
variations of the same animal, as new admixtures indicating the 
blood of C. vzrgznzanus are sometimes found of late, and I have 
myself noted, among some hundreds of deer killed within a radius 
of a hundred miles from Denver, marked variations from any of 
the descriptions given by naturalists. The prominent marks of this 
variety are those which give the name,—immensely developed ears, 
a thin, switchy, and brush-tipped tail, a gray and black color, and a 
general air of sagacity and knowingness not belied by his behavior 
in the field. Here is his inventory: A pair of immense antlers, 
main beams well back, prongs straight up. Full length of beam in 
a well-grown pair measured by myself, fifty-five inches from extreme 
point to its opposite. Aggregate of growth in this instance, beams 
and prongs, nine feet and three inches. Sixteen well-developed 
points not unusual, though ten seems the normal limit, the excess of 
this number being usually irregular in position and ill balanced. 
Ears, eight to nine inches in length, in almost constant motion. 
Large, prominent, and beautiful eyes. Height, five and a half to six 
feet to antlers’ tips; about four at the haunches. Body round and 
plump, legs slender and graceful, and small feet, seeming utterly 
inadequate to propel the two to three hundred pounds weight in such 
wonderful leaps over formidable obstructions, through regions of 


* Burro, Spanish name for the ass kind. 


260 Flunting the Mutle-Deer in Colorado. 


fallen timber and rock, almost impassable to man. His coat is a rich, 
warm gray or drab, shot with black shadows in the dorsal region, 
where the hairs are heavy and erect, and each has a tip of yellow 
and dead black. A gray to white space, from a downward angle 
between the eyes, extends to the nose, from under the eyes to the ears, 
and softening away at the sides of the neck, stops at an exact line a 
hand’s breadth beneath the jaw. The chin, with some irregular 
touches along the inner portion of the ear usually, the flanks and 
inside of thighs, are a pure white ; and an acorn-shaped patch of the 
same surrounds the tail, which itself is thin and “ switchy,” entirely 
bare beneath, white above, and having a black, pointed brush at the 
tip of hairs two to three inches in length. The short, glossy coat 
of the legs is of the same tawny color that gradually, during the 
summer, covers the entire animal, till the new “blue” coat shows 
itself in September. Otherwise this description applies in November, 
when the deer, in local phrase, begin to ‘“ run,”—z. é.,.to. ruta 
course, both sexes are then at their best. The females bring forth 
their young some time in June; during which month the males, hav- 
ing shed their horns, seclude themselves as if ashamed, “ tarrying at 
Jericho,” in fact, till the excrescence that distinguishes them be again 
grown. 

While in the velvet, the horns are very tender. They are warm. 
Wound them and they bleed. Their gelatinous substance in July is 
a dainty tidbit to the fortunate coyotes. If you would save them, you 
must hang them out of reach of your dogs. Gradually, lime is de- 
posited, the tips harden, the blood ceases to circulate, the velvety 
covering splits open and peels off, the animal hastening the process 
and the sharpening and brightening of the points by industriously 
rubbing them upon the bushes and trees, until, in the bright late 
October days, armed and exulting in his strength and sleekness, he 
is all ready to go a-courting ; and the does, as if aware, and owning 
too the soft influence of the season, forsake their fawns and hide 
away in brake and dell. Then may be heard from hill to hill the 
challenge and the acceptance, and fierce battle be witnessed, in 
which the eager contestants heed not whomsoever may approach, 
till the victors retire to cool shadows and the rewards of valor, the 
vanquished to fight another day; or, if hopeless and superannuated, 
to begin a life of sulky solitude. 


Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 261 


The novice who is ambitious to slay one of these noble and 
sagacious animals needs—of the very best—guide, gun, camp 
outfit, route, range, and luck. If the weather had not its admirable 
reputation for unfailing reliability in Colorado, during the shooting 
season, from mid-August till January, he would need also to pray 
for that. 

If you have plenty of time and little money, buy a good pony and 
saddle, gun and ammunition, blankets, including a light rubber cloth 
or overcoat, a side of bacon, and a frying-pan,—though you will, 
when in permanent camp, probably, prefer to broil venison and fish 
on the coals,—a little salt, a sack of hard-tack, another of dried fruit, 
a few yards of good line, and two dozen gray hackles with brown 
bodies, a change of underclothing, a picket-rope, and a light hatchet, 
a skinning-knife, with belt and sheath, and a stout seamless sack big 
enough to carry your perishables ; tie the lot together and set out on 
foot.* You can take a little rest now and then, when the road is 
good, on the top of all this, if balanced nicely on each side of the 
saddle, or you may mount to ford a river. Of course, it is supposed 
that you outfit at some valley town, probably Denver. At first, of 
a certainty, your progress will be slow. Take your time. I have 
enumerated the smallest possible list of zmped¢menta for a tyro. If 
you stay with us for good, you may some time in the future be able 
to set out on a trip through a few hundred miles of primitive wilder- 
ness in a buckskin suit of your own stitching, and carrying, for equip- 
ment and subsistence, your gun, three cartridges, a pinch of salt and 
a jackknife, like Len Pollard; or to detest salt, like Old Hill; or to 
make a good blanket of snow, like Doc. Porter. But, for a first 
experience, you will find these things very handy, and your pam- 
pered stomach will probably welcome the additions to your bill of fare 
procurable at ranches by the way. By the time you have reached 
Big Thompson, the Gunnison or the Grand, or the Upper Arkansas, 
or any of the smaller tributaries of the Platte, your education will be 
weil under way. 


* The pony will cost twenty to eighty dollars ; saddle, bridle, etc., ten to twenty- 
five; a Sharp’s “business” rifle, single trigger, with necessary implements, thirty to 
fifty ; blankets, ten to fifteen; and other necessaries at about home prices, with the 
advantage of selection from approved stock appropriate to the precise needs of the 
purchaser, and guaranteed to suit. 


I7A 


262 Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


ON THE GRAND. 


Although you will manage so as to be always within reach of sup- 
plies and a post-office, the farther you get from traveled roads and 
recently hunted ground the better. Go till you are sure there is 
game about you; then settle down and take things coolly. If you 
find a camp of genuine and experienced hunters in the neighbor- 
hood, they may, at first, look coldly upon you, as one likely to drive 
the game off the accessible ranges without getting any; at any rate, 
driving it away from them. If you are wise, you will acknowledge 
yourself a novice, and remembering that their sole living may be in 
this, as yours in quite another and probably more lucrative kind of 
hunt back across the Mississippi somewhere, perhaps you will do 


Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 263 


well to offer a fair equivalent—say five dollars—to the man who will 
take you with him and let you shoot a buck of his finding. Go with 
him, do just as he tells you, and you will get your first deer cheap ; 
then, if you are keen and observant, probably, you will have learned 
more than a whole season of painful work by yourself would have 
amounted to, and your second deer will be yours without tribute. 

My own first experience in still hunting in Colorado may be 
taken as an instance of self-confident failure. I would not take a 
guide. No, indeed! Had I not been a mighty hunter from my 
boyhood up ! 

So I waited for the first snow. I had passed the summer in the 
foot-hills with a sketching kit on my back and a rifle in my hands, 
and had been about equally occupied with the grand scenery and 
with the dusky grouse and rabbits. Once I had surprised a band of 
mountain sheep at a lick, by pure accident, and caused a fine old 
buck to ascend some hundreds of feet of steep rocks with great 
agility, the ball from my 36-caliber ‘“rim-fire” only drawing a few 
drops of blood. Anathematizing that gun as only a tyro can, I took 
the first opportunity to exchange for a 50-caliber military rifle, with 
which I expected to fill the next opening to better purpose. 

By and by the deer began to come down from the high feeding- 
grounds, and over the passes from the parks, and gradually to work 
south, “banded,” and led by the old bucks, and making their way 
to the warm and sheltered wintering-places south of Pike’s Peak. 
This migratory habit is observed wherever the high and rough nature 
of the country affords a secure summer retreat, but is too barren and 
storm-exposed for a winter habitat. Sometimes the hunters would 
break up and scatter one of these bands, and in twos and threes they 
would remain and infest the rough country for a time, until joined to 
a new leadership, and thus, timid and on the alert, they were much 
oftener seen than secured; the region back of Boulder being pecul- 
iarly hard hunting-ground, hilly and broken, and giving the keen- 
eyed and keen-nosed animals a great advantage. One November 
morning, at three o’clock, bound to be early, and, if hard and con- 
scientious work might avail, to carry a trophy into camp that day, I 
was trudging cheerfully up Boulder Canon through the new-fallen 
snow. Before the dawn began to follow up the morning star, | had 
climbed a slide in a crevice, some hundreds of feet, and shivered for 


264 Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


an hour under the pines, waiting for light enough to see to shoot. 
My method of approach to the foot of the long, shallow, wooded 
gulch in which I now stood had been well chosen. I had avoided a 
tedious circuit among logs, and sticks that would snap, and stones that 
would roll, anda peculiarly exasperating large-leaved plant, that in its 
dry condition rattles when touched like castanets. 1 knew that the 
deer ‘‘used ” in this vicinity, for I had frequently seen sign here ; I had 
calculated the direction of the wind, the lay of the land, my course 
from the light of the rising sun, so that I might see better than be 
seen, hear better than be heard, and, if my nose could not help me, 
at least to avoid offense to any keener sense of smell than my own. 
I thought myself very sagacious. Well, in due time I decided that 
there was light enough for my purpose. Cautiously up the left side 
of the gulch I worked from tree to tree, peering among the shadows, 
scanning the earth as closely as possible to see whether anything 
had brushed the feathery flakes that barely covered it. I took along 
time, and it grew light too fast, I thought. By and by, high up at 
the head of a grassy swale that wound down the center, I saw three 
imprints of round, plump bodies. The snow was deeper here; there 
were trees close behind, up the gulch, but evidently there had been 
no desire for shelter. They had all lain so as to see down the slope, 
their slender legs curled under for warmth, which had melted the bed 
a little and pressed it closely and firm. I put my hand on the half 
transparent matrix: it was not frozen yet; the little white pellets of 
snow-dust that came with the wind, slanting and rolling along the 
ground, had hardly begun to accumulate in the depressions made by 
the knees and feet. Evidently, my quarry had lain here in full view 
of my slow approach; what moment had they cunningly chosen to 
rise and slip away like shadows? They must still be near. See, the 
tracks are close together and rambling. No sudden fear, or they 
would be in pairs and far apart. Strange, they go down the gulch, 
on the side opposite. Cautiously again I begin to follow the little 
tell-tale tokens. Very cautious before, I am preternaturally so now. 
Not a footfall of my own, not a breath do I permit myself to startle 
my own ears with. I aman hour, perhaps, following these tiny, mean- 
dering foot-prints down to a point where they turn sharply and lead 
straight up the side of the gulch to the ridge at its edge. A new 
light—the sun is up now, but it isn’t that—breaks upon me. It is 


Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 265 


ARE YOU LOOKING FOR US? 


hard to believe, but evidently those deer saw me as I began to 
look for them, and came down through the trees here to inspect me, 
—to see what I was about, in fact,—and they stood right here and 
watched me as I passed by on the other side, not a hundred yards 
away. And then they follow; yes, here run the tracks, right along 
the ridge. The rascals have even stopped when I did, measuring 
their progress with mine. And now I see that the trail has doubled, 
half the imprints pointing this way, and I begin to suspect still more 
of their tantalizing cunning. Yes, it is even so. Here they stood 
and saw my careful inspection of their sleeping apartment, still 
within easy shooting distance, but partly screened by netted boughs 
and twigs, and here they turned again and accompanied me down 
again, retracing their steps; and just at the point where I began to 
climb out, they evidently suspected that I was really in earnest, and 
that they had better go. The direction of their departure was indi- 
cated by three separate lines of double exclamation points in the 
snow, beginning about eighteen feet from where the light broke 
upon me as described, and leading due west. 


266 Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


I shouldered my gun and 
sadly prepared to cross to the 


next undisturbed range. 

That night, as I sat silently 
by the fire reviewing the day’s 
experience and disappointments, 
—for I had tramped_ persever- 
ingly and seen nothing to shoot, 
—I had to take some good- 
natured rallying from the older 
Nimrods of the camp, who sus- 
pected that I had that 
day met some sadden- 
ing disappointment. 

“The boy aint nigh 
so chirk an’ 
chipper to- 
night ez he 


is usually,” remarked 
Old Levi. ‘He's bin 
to school to-day. I ’xpect some 
ole buck up in the hills ez been 
playin’ it fine on him.” 

My next failure was but a 
day or two later. Again I had 
risen with the star, having passed 
a bitter cold night in a deserted AN ATTACK OF “BUCK FEVER.” 


Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado 26 


“I 


cabin. This time I was successful thus far: I found sign and worked 
the ground carefully and correctly, my ambition spurred by what Old 
Levi had told me about a fabulously large buck that for four winters 
had used this ground, and, though frequently seen and shot at, had 
thus far escaped unscathed. I knew that Levi and Hank were at 
that moment less than a mile away, working toward the spot, and I 
dreamed a little of the delight of having them find me there when 
they arrived, with the coveted prize at my feet; but when my 
buck finally broke cover from among the rocks,—at my very feet, 
indeed,—he was such a beautiful sight, his polished antlers lying 
back almost upon his round, massive shoulders, his progress— flight, 
it truly seemed —through that too brief vista of giant rocks, through 
which my way had cost such labor, was something so wonderful to 
see that I actually forgot I carried a gun till the brute with the 
charmed life was a mile away. Was it “buck fever”? Well, that 
was the way it took me; but I never had it afterward. The others 
soon came up. They had seen nothing. Again that day I was so 
fortunate as to find, so unfortunate as to fail. We had separated, 
they going toward Gold Hill, | working in the direction of Sugar 
Loaf Mountain. At the edge of a ravine, I saw a movement in the 
thick growth below, faintly against the snowy bottom. I was indulg- 
ing ina smoke. In my haste to remove my pipe, I dropped it. Out 
then came a large doe, and, still uncertain as to the exact point of 
danger, in short, high jumps went half way up the rise to my left. 
A prettier shot never offered than when she stopped, not a hundred 
yards away, to look at me fora moment. I had a blanket rolled 
and slung across my shoulder, and in my haste and flurry I forgot 
it; it got in the way as I brought my rifle up; I stopped to drop 
it, and when I fired, it was at a moving object instead of at a sta- 
tionary one. I saw the dirt and snow fly a little too high and just 
ahead of her. 

That night after sunset I was building a fire against a huge rock, 
in the snuggest nook I could find on the east foot of Sugar Loaf, 
when a tall, good-looking man in an army coat, with a huge muzzle- 
loader under one arm and alittle yellow dog on the other, approached 
my bivouac. 

“ Hullo! Good-evening! What are you doing here such a 
night as this?” 


268 Hlunting the Mule-Deer tn Colorado. 


The snow was drifting, and it did promise to be an ugly sort of 
night. However, I proceeded to explain, as a matter of course, that 
1 was heating this rock to make my bed against; that when it and 


OSBORNE AND HIS DOG. 


the ground were sufficiently warmed, I proposed to move the fire out 
a couple of yards, replenish it, and then and there to roll up in my 
blankets and sleep the sleep of the just. 

‘Didn’t you see a cabin as you came down the gulch up there?” 
inquired the tall man, with a puzzled or quizzical smile—I suspected 
a little of both. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

‘Well, what kind of people do you take us for, anyhow, to think 
we'd let anybody lie out such a night as this is goin’ to be? Just 


Hunting the Mutle-Deer in Colorado. 269 


pick up those traps of yourn and come alomg with me, an’ don’t you 
ever do that again in this vie-cinity. You'd ’a’ been ina nice fix 
here before morning.” 

I was on my mettle in those days, and inclined to be proud of my 
powers of endurance. I had quite enjoyed the prospect of practicing 
this kind of bed-warming, which I had heard the old fellows tell us 
of as something to make the pilgrim wonder, and I hardly relished 
the half-apparent amusement of this big mountaineer, who wasn’t in 
the least impressed by my show of resignation and resources. One 
look at the black sky, that seemed to be rapidly settling earthward, 
decided me, however, and with a grateful acknowledgment and a 
half sense of relief, I followed my entertainer to his mountain home. 
Ah, those steaks, cut from the rump of that three-hundred-pound 
buck hanging in the back room! There were three inches of fat on 


the edges of them, and my handsome hostess blushed before the fire, 
as she turned them to a beautiful brown, while the little dog looked 
on with an air of quiet approval and anticipation. 

“That's my huntin’ dog,” said Big Osborne, laughing at my stare 
of surprise, not to say incredulity. ‘‘ Yes, sir; and that’s the kind of 


270 flunting the Mutle-Deer in Colorado. 


‘““AND TINY SAID HE THOUGHT HE COULD.” 


dog for these hills. Don’t scare the deer away, and always fetches 
‘em. I can take twenty-five dollars for that dog any day; but 
money can’t buy him. You see, he knows as well as I do just what 
to do. When I get to see a band, I just put him down, and he goes 
right for ’em and begins to bark. Well, you see, the big ones wont 
run for him, and after stamping awhile they take after him. He 
runs a little ways, and then they stop, and he begins to bark again; and 
so he keeps leading ’em right toward me, or I keep working up to 
‘em; and they’re so worried and mad and interested, that sometimes 
I get in two or three shots before they get wind of me at all. That's 
the way I got that big buck, and I reckon he'd ’a’ been too cunning 
for me; but Tiny fetched him, and he can do it every time. Can’t you, 
Tiny?” 

And Tiny said he thought he could. 

Next morning, | resumed my hunt; but, although I saw frequent 
indications of their recent movements—probably during the night— 
in large bodies, I saw no more deer, and again I returned empty- 
handed, this time consoled by the fact that the others had no better 
luck; in fact, they had not seen a deer at all. ; 

But through failures like these is the way to ultimate success. I 
saw my blunders, and thought I might profit by them. I saw that I 


Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 271 


had yet to learn how to look. There is something in knowing a 
deer when you see him. A friend tried long and faithfully to show a 
deer, standing in full view, to an eager but untrained sportsman, and 
then had to shoot it before he could see it. He saw it when it fell 
down, kicking. You look among bowlders and logs, and all are 
perhaps alike to you; but by and by a bowlder surprises you by 
jumping, without warning, twenty feet into the air, over another very 
large one, perhaps, and almost always up-hill; and, while your heart 
bumps your mouth open, the bowlder disappears, and you say, “Oh! 
why didn’t I shoot him?” Sure enough, why ? 

It is a most surprising thing to see a deer get up on its legs,—at 
home, I mean, and when he would prefer to be alone. Watch a cow 
at the same operation. Laborious elevation of one end, then of the 
other; then a great yawn, and a cracking of joints, and a lazy twist 
of the tail and a mighty snort of bovine satisfaction, and she is ready 
to go to pail or pasture. But she don’t budge, mind, without the 
regular formula. How does a buck start for pasture when you drive 
him up in the morning? Why, he lies with his four feet under him, 
and when he is ready to go it is like Jack getting out of the box. 
The tremendous extensor muscles contract with all the power and 
facility rest and warmth have given them, and the plump body, like 
a well-inflated rubber ball propelled by a vigorous kick, flies lightly 
into the air. The simile is borne out as it seems about to 
descend; light as thistle-down it nears the earth; another giant 


impulse from an unseen power—cvash—and again it describes its 
light parabola; crack — bump — thud — thud—thud —each time 
fainter than the last, and your surprise is all that remains. 

The time, patience, effort, and study I spent during that winter 
and the summer and winter following in learning how to outwit that 
subtlest of all harmless creatures would have mastered a much more 
exact science. I realized a degree of success, however ; and when I 
stood over my first buck, not chance slain, but really outdone in 
craft, shot through the heart as he sprang to his feet and turned to 
see me not twenty steps away,—seeing me and suspecting danger 
only at the instant of his death, while I had followed him for hours, 
unsuspected, patiently, perseveringly,—I felt that the achievement 
was worth all it had cost. Meantime, I had risen with the morning 
star for days together, crept through miles upon miles of all sorts of 


272 Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


growth and over all sorts of ground; had seen scores of deer, 
wounded a few, to my great regret, but, as a rule, had been sparing 
of ammunition, unwilling to miss or only to maim. And so 1] 
came to know them well, and I am glad to say that I was never 
tempted to harm an inexperienced and careless fawn, or the doe 
cumbered with maternal cares, although opportunities were frequent 
for making sure work with these. 

I think the man that can kill a “ papoose ’—unless impelled by 
the hunger that knows no law—is no better than an Indian. He is 
a grade worse. Here, in Colorado, the game-law lets a man kill a 
deer out of season if he is hungry or if his family needs the meat. 
It ought to imprison the man who will kill a fawn for any other 
reason, or even then, if he can get jack-rabbits instead. I once 
heard Len Pollard tell about killing a doe in the bad lands when 
he was almost starving, on one of his wild journeys. It was July. 
She was very poor, but Len was hungry. As he stooped to bleed 
her, something touched the hand that was drawing his knife. It was 
a little fawn, and right behind it in the bushes was its twin. Both 
came and smelt the body, and then licked the hunter's hands. Len 
is made of good stuff, and he couldn’t stand that. He mounted his 
horse, but the little things followed, and finally he turned and merci- 
fully killed both of them rather than leave them to starve. But he 
recalls it rather in the light of a tragedy. 

Leaving camp early, but not until after a good breakfast, with a 
brace of invalids whose Colorado appetites are beginning to clamor 
for relief from the monotony of fresh trout, caught from the stream 
beside which is our rest, and which the Indians call Yampah, —with 
light enough to show a moving object a mile away, or a fresh track 
from the saddle, I will suppose myself, one September morning, five 
years after the day of disappointment just described, riding at a 
leisurely pace up a long hollow in a hill-side with an east and south 
exposure. I have never hunted here until now, but I see groves of 
quaking asp succeed each other for miles away to the right; and, 
through occasional vistas to the left, the black pine-tops show, rising 
from the river by west and north slopes to meet me on the rounded 
crest bared by last year’s fires. There the ground will surely show 
if any of the kind I seek have lately passed, and those groves are 
the haunts they love. Skirting their upper edges, with now and then 


Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


do 
~I 
WwW 


A PATTERN IN A NET OF TWIGS. 


an incursion, I ride for miles. Nota sign. I ride now with haste, for 
not until I see sign will I begin to hunt. Suddenly, a fresh track — 
two of them—leisurely winding downward. In a moment, alert, I 
am on the ground, taking the rein over my pony’s head as, rifle in 
hand, I dismount, so that if I let him go he will put his foot in it 
presently and hold himself there. (A lariat looped at the saddle- 
fork, or held coiled in the left hand ready to drop, Indian fashion, is 
also good.) I intend to leave him here to feed while I prowl around 
to watch and listen, but presently | make out a peculiar pattern in 
the net-work of low branches and little sprouts of trees. It is very 
significant to me; I know there can be no mistake about it, and I| 
immediately send a ball just under the center portion. The pattern 
disappears without noise, and I reload, catch my pony, that has 
merely stepped aside at the flash and report of my 44-caliber Creed- 
moor, and lead him about sixty yards into the thicket, and there lies 
a fine fat doe. 

After some dexterous use of the knife, a noose of the lariat back 
of her shoulders, a turn forward about the ‘‘ horn” of the saddle, a 
few tugs and hitches, and the limp one hundred and _ fifty pounds is 
secured by the hooks in the cinch, —for this case made and provided; 
my patient old Cub, meantime, pretending a vicious attack upon my 
buckskin breeches, but standing stanchly while | lift and make all 
fast and secure. Then my gun slung across my shoulder, the sunset 
in our faces, Cub and I jog lazily toward camp. The sage-hen rises 
noisily and unwillingly, with much cackle, from our very feet ; noise- 

18 


274 Flunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


less prowlers, long and lithe, slip from shadow to shadow ; the coyote 
yelps complainingly in the distance, and a camp-fire is twinkling 
away down by the dim river. 

So long as he knows he is unobserved,—and your old buck is 
as shrewd as a man in judging of this,—he stands and eyes the 
hunter with the coolest curiosity. The moment the approach is 
direct, changing from oblique, or the hunter conceals himself, or 
halts and crouches, that moment ‘‘old smarty” runs away. The 
gun should be at the shoulder when the hunter halts to shoot, 
or there is no time. Often he will lie and lazily watch the 
approaching enemy, as, gun in hand, he labors along through fallen 
wood and rocks, and after perhaps a half hour’s enjoyment of the 
game of hide-and-seek, the search getting a little too warm, he 
will at one jump from his lair, clear a huge rock or log and dis- 
appear, his feet leaving the exact imprints in which they have rested 
perhaps for hours. Frequently, the only evidence the hunter has 
of his vicinity is the break-neck clatter and crash, sudden as an 
avalanche, in which the alarmed animal seeks safety and at the 
same time warns all of his fellows. The best plan then is for the 
hunter to take another tack, in doing which he may possibly find 
his game doubling upon him, particularly if he strike for higher 
ground. 

Don't continually try your gun at a mark. It scares the hunters 
and the game. ‘‘ What a nice spot to shoot at!” or, “See if I can’t 
hit that tree way over there,” says Tenderfoot, and presently some 
startled mountaineer yells out, ““Here! who the future condition of 
misery are you a-shootin’?” which is an awkward query when pro- 
pounded by an ugly-looking man with a navy armament in his belt. 
You might hit him after honestly missing a deer or a bear, and he 
wouldn't blame you so much; but he detests this aimless fusilade 
which only drives away the game. He suspects, too, that this waster 
of ammunition will have poor success; for a ‘dead shot,” even, at a 
target may be a muff in the game country. 

Try to be cool enough to mark whether your ball strikes over or 
under when you miss a shot with a hill-side background. After 
awhile you will instinctively measure distances and elevate accord- 
ingly. Whatever theoretical sportsmen may say, you can just as 
well estimate a scale to elevate to as the distance of your object, and 


Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 275 


can judge of the perpendicular from bead to notch just as well with- 
out the upright bar, or “elevated sight,” to waste time in adjusting. 

This is the practice of all the old hunters of my acquaintance: 
Draw on your object fine, as if close by; then, keeping the bead on 
him, lower the breech carefully till you can see such full elevation of 
sight, or portion of barrel below it, as in your judgment, guided by 
experience, is equivalent to the distance, and cut loose. If your rifle 
is of small caliber, say 7'y’°5, and uses the long ball, with a heavy 
charge of powder, making a low trajectory, you will rarely, in these 
mountains, need to draw coarser than the whole height of the “ front 
sight,” or up to, say, twice its height for three hundred yards or a 
little over. Of this you must know by experiment, however, the 
amount and strength of powder, weight and density of ball, etc., 
varying in many cases, as well as the height of sights and distance 
between them.* 

At first, you had better take only such chances as offer within 
sure range. Take the body rather than the head, and well forward, 
—just at the point of the shoulder is best. Pull as though you had 


Ni 


@ § 


OPEN SIGHT. ELEVATING SIGHT. 


got all day to do it in, even if you use double triggers, which are an 
abomination. 


*In showing the hunter’s method of “ elevating,” I have also illustrated a device 
of my own, which, upon careful trial, will be found to serve as a ready and faithful 
substitute for the bar and slide. Let your gunsmith sink a line from behind the bead 
straight toward the notch of the “buck-horn” sight. At intervals, to mark the degree 
of elevation for 150, 200, 300, 400, or 500 yards, these intervals determined by experi- 
” sight placed, as usual, back of the breech, cut 
cross-lines wide and deep enough to be distinctly seen. Of course, the perpendicular 
line from the bead must, in sighting, fill the notch center, and the cross-line for the 
distance required may seem to rest upon the top of the buck-horn. The novice in 
“off-hand” shooting will find this a great help to his progress. 


ment, or by looking through a “ peep 


276 FHlunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado. 


Morning and evening are best to hunt in. In the bright of the 
moon, deer feed at night, resting while the sun is high. If not much 
hunted, they lie in the shade, not far from water; if often alarmed, 
they ‘roost high” and keep a good lookout, or perhaps leave for a 
quieter range. Fires and smoke they detest, and they soon learn to 
associate the report of fire-arms with the presence and scent of 
human beings. Still, by judicious method, they may be “herded,” 
till you have all the meat you can take care of. 

If a mountain man tells you that he don’t know where the game 
is, believe him. It has become so unsettled by constant and careless 
hunting (which does not deserve the name— ‘driving ” would better 
express it) that one must be in constant experience to know its 
present accessible haunt. It may be plentiful here to-day and gone 
to-morrow. The incursions of coyotes and foxes among the fawns, 
and the approach of a mountain lion, or of a man that shoots inces- 
santly, are marching orders to them. Also, to repeat, fire and smoke 
they particularly abhor. At almost any season, a conflagration may 
occur, originating in the criminal carelessness or ignorance of some 
one who has failed to put out his camp-fire, or in the detestable policy 
of the Indians, or some malcontents among them, at least, who set these 
fires to destroy the timber that might be of use to the whites and to 
drive away the game into their own country, it being their policy to 
disturb their own ‘‘cattle,” as they term them, as little as possible. 

Remember that to see your game before it sees or smells you is 
the greatest advantage. It sometimes happens that when already in 
motion, not thoroughly startled, but suspicious, it may be induced to 
stop and turn by a shrill whistle or a stone thrown in advance. If 
approaching you and unaware of you, the first will nearly always 
prove the best thing to do. In the instance illustrated in the picture 
entitled “The Fall of the Leader,” a small band of males is in full 
flight from the course of a sudden storm. The leader, some yards in 
advance, stops suddenly, with ears and eyes alert to find the source 
and cause of an unfamiliar sound more startling than the roar of the 
winds behind, and, smitten in the same instant, clears at one leap 
the last intervening logs and yields his life in the dry path of the 
coming flood. ; 

Always picket or hobble your animals at night, or at least picket 
one of them—the leader, if they acknowledge one. Neglect of this 
will cost time and money and vexation. 


THE FALL OF THE LEADER. 


If you get lost, stay where you are till somebody finds you or 
you find yourself; 2. ¢., discover some landmark to guide you back. 
If you have familiarized yourself with the countenances of the high 
peaks and their bearings, direction of water-courses, etc., and have 
been careful to take a good look éacé now and then, you can hardly 
fail to retrace your steps. 

In following a trail, if it suddenly disappears, carefully note the 
spot where your uncertainty begins, so that you may, at least, find 
that again. Usually this will occur where pack animals stray or 
straggle aside to feed, and the riders leave the trail to drive them in, 

18a 


278 FHlunting the Mule-Decr in Colorado. 


A DISSOLVING VIEW. 


or on difficult crossings of swampy bottoms, where slow progress 
makes it necessary for a party to widen out, each picking his own 
way. By careful scrutiny of the far side of the open space, morass, 
or intervening growth, you may usually see, or at least see indica-. 
tions, of the trail you seek. 

To save meat for future use, cut it in thin strips, with the grain, 
and string them on a lariat in the sun. After a few hours of expos- 
ure, which may be at successive camps if necessary, it will be thor- 
oughly “jerked.” Salt is not indispensable. 

Always have matches about you, in some water-proof receptacle. 

Let a bear cub alone. Fool with an old bear if you must, but 
be sure there is no small family about. 

In fording a river, look out for “quicks.” These, I believe, are 
never found in swift water. The ‘‘riffles”—a term probably peculiar 
to the West, where the stream widens, or below a bend, particularly 
if there be islands or bars—indicate the places where you may 
attempt to ford. 

Choose rocky or clayey ground, if possible, or clear sand, to 
build your fire upon; if on a muck of pine-needles, it will bur- 
row, and water will not quench it all. Then, in a day or two, the 
whole country is burning over and the game driven away, to say 
nothing of the possible peril to others, and the destruction of the 
forests. 

This is not the whole art of woodcraft, but it will do to begin 
with, and may suffice. Asa closing word, I advise you to be tem- 


FHlunting the Mule-Deer tn Colorado. 279 


perate, and, while doing your share, not to attempt too much. Find 
a good place and go into camp, instead of trying to do the whole 
West in a season, and you will probably count among your pleas- 
antest recollections your deer-hunts and hunting-camps in Colorado. 


THE WILD SHRP EP ORM Ee SSilbikee 


/ 


By JOHN MUIR. 


HE wild sheep ranks highest among the animal mountaineers 
of the Sierra. Possessed of keen sight and scent, immovable 
nerve, and strong limbs, he dwells secure amid the loftiest 

summits of the Alps, from one extremity of the range to the other; 
leaping unscathed from crag to crag, up and down the fronts of 
giddy precipices, crossing foaming torrents and slopes of frozen 
snow, exposed to the wildest storms, yet maintaining a brave, warm 
life, and developing from generation to generation in perfect strength 
and beauty. 

Nearly all the lofty mountain chains of the globe are inhabited 
by wild sheep, which, by the best naturalists, are classified under 
five distinct species. These are the argali (Ovzs ammon, Linn.), 
found throughout all the principal ranges of Asia; the burrhal (Ovzs 
burrhel), of the upper Himalayas; the Corsican moufflon ( Ovzs musz- 
mon, Pal.); the African wild sheep (Ovzs tragelephus, Cuv.); and 
the American big horn, or Rocky Mountain sheep ( Ovzs JZontana, 
Cuv.). To this last-named species belongs the wild sheep of the 
Sierra Nevada. Its range, according to Professor Baird, of the 
Smithsonian Institution, extends ‘from the region of the upper 
Missouri and Yellowstone to the Rocky Mountains and the high 
grounds adjacent to them on the eastern slope, and as far south as 
the Rio Grande. Westward it extends to the coast ranges of Wash- 
ington Territory, Oregon, and California, and follows the highlands 
some distance into Mexico.”* Throughout the vast region bounded 
on the east and west by the Wasatch Mountains and the Sierra 
Nevada, there are more than a hundred independent ranges and 


* Pacific Railroad Survey, vol. viil., page 678. 


nl 


The Wild Sheep of the Sterra. 283 


mountain groups, trending north and south in close succession, range 
beyond range, with summits rising from eight to twelve thousand 
feet above the level of the sea, every one of which, according to my 
own observations, is, or has been, inhabited by this species of sheep. 

Compared with the argali, which, considering its size and the 
vast extent of its range, is probably the most important of all the 
wild sheep, our species is, perhaps, a little larger, and the horns are 
more regularly curved and less divergent. The more important 
characteristics are, however, essentially the same, some of the best 
naturalists maintaining that the two are only varied forms of one 
species. In accordance with this view, Cuvier conjectures that the 
argali may have been distributed over this continent from Asia by 
crossing Behring Straits on ice. 

On account of the extreme variability of the sheep under culture, 
it is generally supposed that the innumerable domestic breeds have 
all been derived from the few wild species ; but the whole question is 
involved in obscurity. According to Darwin, sheep have been 
domesticated from a very ancient period, the remains of a small breed, 
differing from any now known, having been found in the famous 
Swiss lake dwellings. 

Compared with the best-known domestic breeds, we find that our 
wild species is more than twice as large ; and, instead cf an all-wool 
garment, the wild wears a thick overcoat of hair like that of the deer, 
and an under-covering of fine wool. The hair, though rather coarse, 
is comfortably soft and spongy, and lies smooth, as if carefully 
tended with comb and brush. The predominant color during most 
of the year is brownish-gray, varying to bluish-gray in the autumn; 
the belly and a large, conspicuous patch on the buttocks are white ; 
and the tail, which is very short, like that of a deer, is black, with a 
yellowish border. The wool is always white, and grows in beautiful 
spirals down out of sight among the straight, shining hair, like deli- 
cate climbing vines among stalks of corn. 

The horns of the male are of immense size, measuring in their 
greater diameter from five to six and a half inches, and from two and 
a half to three feet in length around the curve. They are yellowish- 
white in color, and ridged transversely, like those of the domestic 
ram. Their cross-section near the base is somewhat triangular in 
outline and flattened over toward the tip. In rising from the head, 


284 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


they curve gently backward and outward, then forward and outward, 
until about three-fourths of a circle is described, and until the flat- 
tened, blunt tips are about two feet apart. Those of the female are» 
flattened throughout their entire length, less curved than those 
of the male, and much smaller, measuring less than a foot along the 
curve. 

A ram and ewe that I obtained near the Modoc lava-beds, to the 
north-east of Mount Shasta, measured as follows: 


Ram, ft. in. Ewe, ft. in. 


lakovaneelesenlsmy Goo G6 Ba 5 fo 5 es eo BIO 3 0 
Girth around shoulders . : gy ai 3 3% 
Length from nose to root of tail . 5 104% 4 3% 
Length of ears o 434 Gk 
Length of tail . Sin o 4% °o 4% 
Length of horns around curve . . 2 9 o 11% 
Distance across from tip to tip of hoa : 2 5% 
Circumference of horns at base tis bah o 6 


The measurements of a male obtained in the Rocky Mountains 
by Audubon vary but little as compared with the above. 

The weight of his specimen was three hundred and forty-four 
pounds,* which is, perhaps, about an average for full-grown males. 
The females are about a third lighter. 

Besides these differences in size, color, clothing, etc., as noted 
above, we may observe that the domestic sheep, in a general way, is 
expressionless, like a dull bundle of something only half alive, while 
the wild is as elegant and graceful as a deer, and every movement 
tells the strength and grandeur of his character. The tame is timid; 
the wild is bold. The tame is always more or less ruffled and dirty ; 
while the wild is as smooth and clean as the flowers of his mountain 
pastures, 

The earliest mention that I have been able to find of the wild 
sheep in America is by Father Picolo, a Catholic missionary at Mon- 
terey, in the year 1797, who, after describing it, oddly enough, as 
‘‘a kind of deer with a sheep-like head, and about as large as a calf 
one or two years old,” naturally hurries on to remark: “I have 
eaten of these beasts; their flesh is very tender and delicious.” 
Mackenzie, in his northern travels, heard the species spoken of by 


* Audubon and Bachman’s “ Quadrupeds of North America.” 


HEAD OF THE MERINO RAM (DOMESTIC). 


DRAWN BY JAMES C, BEARD. 


i a 


7 4! 


veri 
ye ey 


aye Oy, ¢ 
WA ey 
OR 


u 


The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 287 


the Indians as “white buffaloes.”. And Lewis and Clark tell us that, 
in a time of great scarcity on the head-waters of the Missouri, in 
their journeys they saw plenty of wild sheep, but they were ‘too 
shy to be shot.” 

A few of the more energetic of the Pah Ute Indians hunt the wild 
sheep every season among the more accessible of the California 
Alps, in the neighborhood of passes, where, from having been pur- 
sued, they have at length become extremely wary; but in the rugged 
wilderness of peaks and canons, where the foaming tributaries of the 
San Joaquin and King’s rivers take their rise, they fear no hunter 
save the wolf, and are more guileless and approachable than their 
tame kindred. 

I have been greatly interested in studying their habits during the 
last ten years, while engaged in the work of exploring those high 
regions where they delight to roam. In the months of November 
and December, and probably during a considerable portion of mid- 
winter, they all flock together, male and female, old and young. | 
once found a complete band of this kind numbering upward of fifty, 
which, on being alarmed, went bounding away across a jagged lava- 
bed at admirable speed, led by a majestic old ram, with the lambs 
safe in the middle of the flock. 

In spring and summer, the full-grown rams form separate bands 
of from three to twenty, and are usually found feeding along the edges 
of glacier meadows, or resting among the castle-like crags of the 
high summits; and whether quietly feeding or scaling the wild cliffs 
for pleasure, their noble forms and the power and beauty of their 
movements never fail to strike the beholder with lively admiration. 

Their resting-place seems to be chosen with reference to sun- 
shine and a wide outlook, and most of all to safety from the attacks 
of wolves. Their feeding-grounds are among the most beautiful of 
the wild gardens, bright with daisies, and gentians, and mats of pur- 
ple bryanthus, lying hidden away on rocky headlands and cafon 
sides, where sunshine is abundant, or down in shady glacier valleys, 
along the banks of the streams and lakes, where the plushy sod is 
greenest. Here they feast all summer, the happy wanderers, per- 
haps relishing the beauty as well as the taste of the lovely flora on 
which they feed, however slow tame men may be to guess their 
capacity beyond grass. 


288 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


A FEEDING-GROUND, 


When winter storms set in, loading 
their highland pastures with snow, then, 
like the birds, they gather and go to 
warmer climates, usually descending the 
eastern flank of the range to the rough, 
volcanic table-lands and treeless ranges 
of the Great Basin adjacent to the Sierra. 
They never make haste, however, and 
seem to have no dread of storms, many 
of the strongest only going down leis- 
urely to bare, wind-swept ridges, to feed 
on bushes and dry bunch-grass, and then 
returning up into the snow. Once I was 
snow-bound on Mount Shasta for three 


The Wild Sheep of the Sverra. 289 


days, a little below the timber-line. It was a dark and stormy time, 
well calculated to test the skill and endurance of mountaineers. 
The snow-laden gale drove on, night and day, in hissing, blinding 
floods, and when at length it began to abate, I found that a small 
band of wild sheep had weathered the storm in the lee of a clump 
of dwarf pines a few yards above my storm-nest, where the snow 
was eight or ten feet deep. I was warm back of a rock, with 
blankets, bread, and fire. My brave companions lay in the snow, 
without food, and with only the partial shelter of the short trees, yet 
made no sign of suffering or faint-heartedness. 

In the months of May and June, they bring forth their young, in 
the most solitary and inaccessible crags, far above the nesting-rocks 
of the eagle. I have frequently come upon the beds of the ewes and 
lambs at an elevation of from twelve to thirteen thousand feet above 
sea-level. These beds are simply oval-shaped hollows, pawed out 

19 


290 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


among loose, disintegrating rock-chips and sand, upon some sunny 
spot commanding a good outlook and partially sheltered from the 
winds that sweep those lofty peaks almost without intermission. 
Such is the cradle of the little mountaineer, aloft in the very sky ; 
rocked in storms, curtained in clouds, sleeping in thin, icy air; 
but, wrapped in his hairy coat, and nourished by a strong, warm 
mother, defended from the talons of the eagle and teeth of the sly 
coyote, the bonnie lamb grows apace. He soon learns to nibble the 
tufted rock-grasses and leaves of the white spirea; his horns 
begin to shoot, and before summer is done he is strong and agile, 
and goes forth with the flock, watched by the same divine love 
that tends the more helpless human lamb in its warm cradle by the 
fireside. 

Nothing is more commonly remarked by noisy, dusty  trail- 
travelers in the high Sierra than the want of animal life—no birds, 
no deer, no squirrels. But if such could only go away quietly into 
the wilderness, sauntering afoot with natural deliberation, they would 
soon learn that these mountain mansions are not without inhabitants, 
many of whom, confiding and gentle, would not try to shun their 
acquaintance. 

In the fall of 1873, I was tracing the South Fork of the San 
Joaquin up its wild canon to its farthest glacier fountains. It was 
the season of Alpine Indian summer. The sun beamed lovingly ; 
the squirrels were nutting in the pine-trees, butterflies hovered about 
the last of the golden-rods, willow and maple thickets were yellow, 
the meadows were brown, and the whole sunny, mellow landscape 
glowed like a countenance with the deepest and sweetest repose. 
On my way over the shining, glacier-polished rocks along the foam- 
ing river, | came to an expanded portion of the canon, about two 
miles long and half a mile wide, inclosed with picturesque granite 
walls, like those of Yosemite Valley, the river pouring its crystal 
floods through garden, meadow, and grove in many a sun-spangled 
curve. 

This hidden Yosemite was full of wild life. Deer, with their 
supple, well-grown fawns, bounded from thicket to thicket as I 
advanced. Grouse kept rising from the brown grass with a great 
whirring of wings, and, alighting on low branches of pine or poplar, 
allowed a near approach, as if pleased to be observed. Farther on, 


The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 291 


THE WATER-OUSEL. 


a broad-shouldered wild-cat showed himself, coming out of a grove, 
and crossing the river on a flood-jamb of logs, halting for a moment 
to look back. The bird-like tamias frisked about my feet every- 
where among the pine-needles and seedy grass-tufts. Cranes waded 
the shallows of the river-bends, the kingfisher rattled from perch to 
perch, and the blessed ousel sang amid the spray of every cascade. 
Where may lonely wanderer find a more beautiful family of mount- 


292 The Wild Sheep of the Sterra. 


ain-dwellers, earth- 
-| born companions, 
| and fellow-mortals ? 
It was afternoon 
8 when I joined them, 
: and the glorious 
< WS landscape faded in 

SS the gloaming before 
I awoke from their enchantment. Then 
I sought a camp-ground on the river-bank, 


made a cupful of tea, and lay down to 
sleep on a smooth place among the yellow 
leaves of an aspen grove. Next day, I 
discovered yet grander landscapes and 
grander life. Following the curves of the 
river, over huge, swelling rock-bosses, and 


past innumerable cascades, the scenery in 
general became gradually more Alpine. 
The sugar-pine and silver-fir gave place to 
DRIER! SERGE BUA. the hardier cedar and Williamson spruce. 


The canon walls became more rugged and bare, and gentians and 
Arctic daisies became more abundant in the gardens and strips of 
meadow along the streams. Toward the middle of the afternoon I 
came to another valley, strikingly wild and original in all its features, 
and perhaps never before touched by human foot. As regards area 
of level bottom-land, it is one of the very smallest of the San Joaquin 
Yosemites, but its walls are sublime in height, rising at a bound into 
the thin sky two to four thousand feet above the river. At the head 
of the valley the main canon forks, as is found to be the case in all 
Yosemites. The formation of this one is due to the action of two 
vast ice-rivers, whose fountains lay to the eastward, on the flanks of 
Mounts Humphrey and Emerson, and a cluster of nameless peaks 
farther south. On the slow recession of those rock-grinding glaciers, 
at the close of the Glacial Period, this valley basin came to light: 
first a lake, then a sedgy meadow, then, after being filled in with 
flood and avalanche bowlders, and planted with trees and grasses, it 
became the Yosemite of to-day—a range for wild sheep and wild 
men. 


The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 293 


The gray bowlder-chafed river -was singing loudly through the 
valley, but above its massy roar I heard the deep booming of a 


water-fall, which drew me eagerly on. Emerging from the tangled 


IN A SIERRA FOREST 


avalanche of groves and briers at the head of the valley, there, in 
full view, appeared the young San Joaquin fresh from its glacier 
fountains, falling white and free in a glorious cascade, between 
granite walls two thousand feet high. The steep incline down 
which the glad waters thundered seemed to bar all farther progress. 
It was not long, however, before I discovered a crooked seam in the 
rock, by which I was enabled to climb to the edge of a terrace that 
crosses the canon and divides the cataract nearly in the middle. 
Here I sat down to take breath and make some entries in my note- 
book, taking advantage, at the same time, of my elevated position 
IQA 


294 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


above the trees to gaze back over the valley into the heart of the 
noble landscape, little knowing the while what neighbors were near. 

After spending a few irregular minutes in this way, I chanced to 
look across the fall, and there stood three sheep quietly observing 
me. Never did the sudden appearance of a mountain, or water-fall, 
or human friend, so forcibly seize and rivet my attention. Anxiety 
to observe accurately on so rare an occasion checked boisterous 
enthusiasm. Eagerly I marked the flowing undulations of their 
firm, braided muscles, their strong legs, ears, eyes, heads, their 
graceful, rounded necks, the color of their hair, and the bold, 
upsweeping, cycloidal curve of their noble horns. When they 
moved, I devoured every gesture, while they, in nowise disconcerted 
either by my attention or by the tumultuous roar of the falling 
water, advanced deliberately alongside the rapids between the two 
divisions of the cataract, turning now and then to look at me. 
Presently they came to a steep, ice-burnished acclivity, which they 
ascended by a quick succession of short, stiff-legged leaps, reaching 
the top without a struggle. This was the most startling feat of 
mountaineering I had ever witnessed, and, considering only the 
mechanics of the thing, one’s astonishment could hardly have been 
greater had they displayed wings and taken to flight. ‘‘ Sure-footed 
mules” on such ground would have fallen and rolled like loosened 
bowlders. Many a time, where the slopes were far lower, I have 
been compelled to take off my shoes and stockings, tie them to my 
belt, and creep barefoot with the utmost caution, No wonder, then, 
that I watched the progress of these animal mountaineers with keen 
sympathy, and exulted in the boundless sufficiency of wild nature 
displayed in their invention, construction, and keeping. But judge 
the measure of my good fortune when, a few minutes later, | caught 
sight of a dozen more in one band, near the foot of the upper fall. 
They were standing on the same side of the river with me, distant 
only twenty-five or thirty yards, and looking as unworn and _ perfect 
as if created on the spot. It appeared by their tracks, which I had 
seen on the meadow, and by their present position, that when I 
came up the canon they were all feeding together down in the val- 
ley, and in their haste to reach high ground, where they could look 
about them to ascertain the nature of the strange disturbance, they 
were divided, three ascending on one side the river, the rest on the 


The Wiad Sheep of the Sverra. 295 


CROSSING A CANON STREAM. 


other. The main band, headed by an experienced chief, now began 
to cross the rapids. This was another exciting feat; for, among all 
the varied experiences of mountaineers, the crossing of boisterous, 
rock-dashed torrents is found to be the most trying to the nerves. 
Yet these fine, brave fellows walked fearlessly to the brink, and 
jumped from bowlder to bowlder, holding themselves in perfect 
poise above the whirling, confusing current, as if they were doing 
nothing extraordinary. 

The immediate foreground of this rare picture was glossy, ice- 
burnished granite, traversed by a few bold lines in which grew rock- 
ferns and tufts of healthy bryanthus, with the gray cafion walls on 
the sides nobly sculptured and adorned with brown cedars and 


296 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


pines. In the distance were lofty peaks dipping into the azure, and 
in the middle-ground was the snowy fall, the voice and soul of the 
landscape; fringing bushes beating time to its thunder-tones, the 
brave sheep in front of it; their gray forms slightly obscured in the 
spray, yet standing out in good heavy relief against the close white 
water,—their huge horns rising and curving in the midst like the 
upturned roots of dead pine-trees, while the evening sunbeams 
streaming up the canon gilded and glorified all. After crossing the 
river, the dauntless climbers, led on by their chief, at once began to 
scale the canon wall, turning now right, now left, in long, single 
file, keeping well apart out of one another's way, and leaping in 
regular succession from crag to crag, now ascending slippery dome- 
curves, now walking leisurely along the edges of precipices, stop- 
ping, at times, to gaze down at me from some flat-topped rock, with 
heads held aslant, as if curious to learn what I thought about it, or 
whether I was likely to follow them. After reaching the top of the 
wall, which, at this place, is somewhere between one thousand five 
hundred and two thousand feet high, they were still visible against 
the sky as they lingered, looking down in groups of two or three, 
giving rare animation to the wilderness. 

Throughout the entire ascent they did not make a single awkward 
step, or an unsuccessful effort of any kind. I have frequently seen 
tame sheep in mountains jump upon a sloping rock-surface, hold on 
tremulously a few seconds, and fall back baffled and irresolute. But 
in the most trying situations, where the slightest want or inaccuracy 
would have resulted in destruction, these always seemed to move in 
comfortable reliance on their strength and skill, the limits of which 
they never appeared to know. Moreover, each one of the flock, 
while following the guidance of the most experienced, yet climbed 
with intelligent independence as a perfect individual, capable of sep- 
arate existence whenever it should wish or be compelled to withdraw 
from the little clan. The domestic sheep, on the contrary, is only a 
fraction of an animal, a whole flock being required to form an indi- 
vidual, just as numerous florets are required to make one complete 
sunflower. 

Those shepherds who, in summer, drive their flocks to the mount- 
ain pastures, and, while watching them night and day, have seen 
them torn to pieces by bears, disintegrated by storms, and scattered 


The Wild Sheep of the Sverra. 297 


diverse like wind-driven chaff, will, in some measure, be able to appre- 
ciate the self-reliance and strength and noble individuality of nature's 
sheep. 

Like the Alp-climbing ibex of Europe, our mountaineer is said to 
plunge headlong down the faces of sheer precipices and alight on his 
big horns. I know only two hunters who claim to have actually wit- 
nessed this feat. I never was so fortunate. They describe the act 
as a diving head-foremost. The horns are so large at the base that 
they cover all the upper portion of the head down nearly to a level 
with the eyes, and the skull is exceedingly strong. I struck an old, 
bleached specimen on Mount Ritter a dozen blows with my ice-axe 
without breaking it. Such skulls would not fracture very readily by 
the wildest rock-diving, but other bones could hardly be expected to 
hold together in such a performance ; and the mechanical difficulties 
in the way of controlling their movements, after striking upon an 
irregular surface, are, in themselves, sufficient to show this bowlder- 
like method of progression to be impossible, even in the absence of all 
other evidence on the subject; moreover, the ewes follow wherever 
the rams may lead, and their horns are mere spikes. I have found 
many pairs of horns considerably battered—a result, most likely, of 
fighting, though, when a great leap is made, they may possibly seek 
to lighten the shock by striking their heads against anything that 
may chance to be favorably situated for the purpose, just as men 
mountaineers do with their hands. I have been interested in the 
question, after witnessing the performances of the San Joaquin band 
upon the glaciated rocks at the foot of the falls, and as soon as [| 
procured specimens and examined their feet, all the mystery disap- 
peared. The secret, considered in connection with exceptionally 
strong muscles, is simply this: the wide posterior portion of the 
bottom of the foot, instead of wearing down and becoming flat and 
hard, like the feet of tame sheep and horses, bulges out in a soft, 
rubber-like pad or cushion, which not only grips and holds well on 
smooth rocks, but fits in small cavities, and down upon or against 
slight protuberances. Even the hardest portions of the edge of the 
hoof are comparatively soft and elastic; furthermore, the toes admit of 
an extraordinary amount of both lateral and vertical motion, allowing 
the foot to accommodate itself still more perfectly to the irregularities 
of rock surfaces, and at the same time increasing the gripping power. 


298 The Wild Sheep of the Sterra. 


a At the base of Sheep Rock, one of 
the winter strongholds of the Shasta 

flocks, there lives a stock-raiser who 
has the advantage of observing the 
movements of wild sheep every winter; 
and, in the course of a conversation 
with him on the subject of their 


diving habits, he pointed to the front 


of a lava headland about a hundred 
and fifty feet high which is only eight 
or ten degrees out of the perpendic- 
ular. ‘ There,” said he, “I followed 
a band of them fellows to the back 
of that rock yonder, and expected to 
capture them all, for | thought I had 
a dead thing on them. I got behind 
them on a narrow bench that runs 
along the face of the wall near the 
top and comes to an end where they 
couldn't get away without falling and 
being killed; but they jumped off and 
landed all right. 

“What!” said I, “jumped a hun- 
dred and fifty feet! Did you see 
them do it?” 

‘No; “he=replied, "1 ididnitisee 
them going down, for I was behind 
them; but I saw them go off over the 
brink, and then I went below and 
found their tracks where they struck 
on the loose débrzs at the bot- 
tom. They sazled right off, and 
landed on their feet right side 
up. That's the kind of animal 
they is—beats anything else 


JUMPING OVER A PRECIPICE. 


that goes on four legs.” 
On another occasion, a flock that was pursued by hunters re- 
treated to another portion of this same cliff where it is still higher, 


Lhe Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 299 


and, on being followed, they were seen jumping down in perfect 
order, one behind another, by two men who happened to be chop- 
ping where they had a fair view of them and could watch their prog- 
ress from top to bottom. Both ewes and rams made the frightful 
descent without evincing any extraordinary concern, hugging close 
to the rock, and controlling the velocity of their half falling, half 
leaping movements by striking at short intervals and holding back 
with their cushioned, rubber feet upon small ledges and roughened 
inclines until near the bottom, when they “sailed off” into the free 
air and alighted on their feet, but with their bodies so nearly in a 
vertical position that they appeared to be diving. 

It appears, therefore, that the methods of this wild mountaineer- 
ing become clearly comprehensible as soon as we make ourselves 
acquainted with the rocks, and the kind of feet and muscles brought 
to bear upon them. 

The Modoc and Pah Ute Indians are, or, rather, have been, the 
most successful hunters of the wild sheep. Great numbers of heads 
and horns belonging to animals killed by them are found accumu- 
lated in the caves of the lava-beds and Mount Shasta, and in the 
upper canons of the Alps opposite Owens Valley, while the heavy 
obsidian arrowheads found on some of the highest peaks show that 
this warfare has long been going on. 

In the more accessible ranges that stretch across the desert re- 
gions of western Utah and Nevada, considerable numbers of Indians 
used to hunt in company like packs of wolves, and being perfectly 
acquainted with the topography of their hunting-grounds, and with 
the habits and instincts of the game, they were pretty successful. 
On the tops of nearly every one of the Nevada mountains that I 
have visited, | found small, nest-like inclosures built of stones, in 
which, as | afterward learned, one or more Indians lay in wait 
while their companions scoured the ridges below, knowing that 
the alarmed sheep would surely run to the summit, and when they 
could be made to approach with the wind they were shot and killed 
at short range. 

Still larger bands of Indians used to make grand hunts upon 
some dominant mountain much frequented by the sheep, such as 
Mount Grant, on the Wassuck Range to the west of Walker Lake. 
On some particular spot favorably situated with reference to the 


300 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


INDIANS HUNTING WILD SHEEP. 


well-known trails of the sheep, they built a high-walled corral, with 
long guiding wings, diverging from the gate-way; and into this in- 
closure they sometimes succeeded in driving the noble game. Great 
numbers of Indians were, of course, required—more, indeed, than 
they could usually muster, counting in squaws, children and all; they 
were compelled, therefore, to build rows of dummy hunters out of 
stones, along the ridge-tops they wished to prevent the sheep from 
crossing. And, without bringing any discredit upon the sagacity 
of the game, these dummies are found effective; for, with a few 
live Indians moving about excitedly among them, they can hardly 
be distinguished at a little distance from men, by any one not in 
the secret. The whole ridge-top then seems to be alive with 
hunters. 

The only animal that may fairly be regarded as a companion of 
our sheep is the so-called Rocky Mountain goat (4 plocerus Mon- 


The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 301 


eo) 


tana, Rich.), which, as its name indicates, is more antelope than 
goat. He, too, is a brave and hardy climber, fearlessly accompany- 
ing the sheep on the wildest summits, and braving with him the 
severest storms; but smaller and much less dignified in demeanor. 
His jet-black horns are only about five or six inches in length, and 
the long white hair with which he is covered must obscure the 
expression of his limbs. I have never yet seen a living specimen of 
this American chamois, although a few bands, it is said, have been 
found in the Sierra. In some portions of the Rocky and Cascade 
mountains it occurs in flocks of considerable size, where it is eagerly 
pursued by the Indians, who make use of its skin in various ways as 
clothing, that of the head with the horns attached being sometimes 
worn as a Cap. 

Three species of deer are found in California—the black- tailed, 
white-tailed, and mule-deer. The first mentioned ( Cervus Columbz- 
anus) is by far the most abundant, and occasionally meets the sheep 
during the summer on high glacier meadows and along the edge of 
the timber-line ; but, being a forest animal, seeking shelter and rear- 
ing its young in dense thickets, it seldom visits the wild sheep in its 
higher homes. The antelope, though not a mountaineer, is occa- 
sionally met in winter by the sheep while feeding along the edges of 
the sage-plains and bare volcanic hills to the east of the Sierra. So 
also is the mule-deer, which is almost restricted in its range to this 
eastern region. The white-tailed species belongs to the coast- 
ranges. 

Perhaps no wild animal in the world is without enemies, but 
highlanders, as a class, have fewer than lowlanders. The wily pan- 
ther, slipping and crouching among long grass and bushes, pounces 
upon the antelope and deer, but seldom crosses the bald, craggy 
thresholds of the sheep. Neither can the bears be regarded as ene- 
mies; for though they seek to vary their every-day diet of nuts and 
berries by an occasional meal of mutton, they prefer to hunt tame 
and helpless flocks. Eagles and coyotes, no doubt, capture an 
unprotected lamb at times, or some unfortunate beset in deep, soft 
snow, but these cases are little more than accidents. So also a few 
perish in long-continued snow-storms, though in all my mountain- 
eering I have not found more than five or six that seemed to have 
met their fate in this way. A little band of three were discovered 


302 The Wild Sheep of the Sierra. 


snow-bound in Bloody Canon a few years ago, and were killed with 
an axe by some travelers who chanced to be crossing the range in 
winter. 

Man, being the most powerful, is the most dangerous enemy of 
all, but even from him our brave mountain dweller has little to fear 
in the remote solitudes of the Alps. The golden plains of the Sacra- 
mento and San Joaquin were lately thronged with bands of elk and 
antelope, but, being fertile and accessible, they were required for 
human pastures. So also are the magnificent feeding-grounds of the 
deer—hill, valley, forest, and meadow; but it will be long ere man 
will care to take the highland castles of the sheep. And when we 
consider here how rapidly entire species of noble animals, such as 
the elk, moose, and buffalo, are being pushed to the very verge of 
extinction, all lovers of wildness will rejoice with me in the rocky 
security of Ouds Montana, the bravest inhabitant of the California 
Alps. 


IMSH Ss eAN Ie SONeies 


By GEORGE BIRD “GRINNELA, Pu. D. 


HE prong-horn antelope is the fleetest of North American 
mammals. Its every movement is full of a lightness and ease 
which compel admiration, and even when at rest it is beauti- 

fully and gracefully statuesque. It is a goodly sight to watch an old 
buck as he stands outlined against the horizon on the top of some 
high bluff. His legs are slim and delicate, while his round, short 
body tells of strength and endurance. The proudly arched neck 
supports a fine pointed head, and the smoothly curving black horns 
stand out silhouette-like against the blue of the unclouded sky. 
Nearer at hand are some tiny kids, not very far from their gravely 
sedate mothers. They walk lightly about over the prairie and 
daintily pluck the grass or sometimes run sportive races with each 
other. Their little hoofs scarcely touch the ground, and when they 
move hither and thither, they seem to float over the earth rather 
than to tread upon it. They are the very embodiment of lightness 
and grace, and are withal so playful and merry-hearted that it seems 
like murder to take their lives. Yet they are quick to catch the 
alarm, and if the old buck on the hill above should sound his call of 
warning, the little company would dart away with the speed of the 
wind—soon to be far from the threatened danger. 

The prong-horn antelope occupies a unique position among the 
horned ruminants. Belonging to that subdivision of the group 
styled Cavzcornza,* it yet sheds its horns annually. As has been 


* For some remarks on this subdivision of the ruminants, see the chapter on The 
North American Cervzde@ in this volume. 


304 The Antelope. 


already explained, the horns of North American ruminants are of 
two kinds: solid, like those of the deer, and hollow, like those of 
the ox. To this latter class belong those of the antelope, but with 
this modification, that the horny epidermic sheath which incloses 
them is not, as is the case with all other hollow-horned ruminants, 
a permanent covering. The zodlogist knows that scales, feathers, 
hair, claws, hoofs, and horns are but modifications of the epidermis, 
and grade into one another in such a way that it is often impos- 
sible to decide at what point one form of covering ends and another 
begins. The sheath of the antelope’s horn is one form of dermal 
outgrowth. Chemically, there is scarcely any difference between it 
and the hair, and to all intents-and purposes it is composed of hairs 
agglutinated together. Herein lies the fundamental difference be- 
tween the shedding of the deer’s antlers and that of the antelope’s 
horns. The deer loses a bony outgrowth—a portion of the skeleton ; 
while the antelope parts with a dermal outgrowth—a portion of the 
integument. 

When the antelope sheds its horns, therefore, they do not drop 
off close to the skull, leaving the head bare like a deers under 
the same circumstances, but the sheath fails off from the core, which 
is now tipped with a new horn, and clothed elsewhere with a thick 
hairy skin, which before long becomes hard black horn. The adult 
male antelope is therefore never entirely without horns. The 
sheath is lost in November or December after the rutting season 
is over. 

Another remarkable characteristic of the antelope is the absence 
of the supplementary hoofs, or ‘“dew-claws,” which represent the 
second and fifth digits of the foot. These are present in all the 
other Pecora except the giraffes. 

From the combination of anomalous characters found in this 
species, it has been considered with great interest by naturalists, 
and a very high authority has separated it from the true antelopes 
and placed it in a family (Axtelocapride) by itself, thus making 
the single genus and species (Axtilocapra Americana Ord) the 
equivalent in zodlogical rank of so important a family as the Lovide. 

The prong-horn antelope stands nearly three feet high at the 
withers, and is from four and one-half to five feet in length. Its 
body is short and stout, head long and slim, neck rather short and 


The Antelope. 305 


usually arched, and legs slender. The eye is very large and set 
high up on the head, immediately beneath the base of the horn. 
The antelope is reddish-yellow above and white below. The face 
up to the horns, an irregularly oval patch at the angle of the 
jaw, and a line down the back of the neck are blackish-brown. 
The sides and lower portion of the head, several irregular cross- 
bars on the front of the neck, the lower flanks, a large triangular 
white patch on the rump, and the entire under parts and _ legs, 
are white. The hoofs and horns are always black. The latter vary 
somewhat in form. Near the base they are long oval in cross 
section, the diameter from before backward being two or three 
times greater than that from side to side. They rise from just 
above the eye slightly forward and outward, and are sometimes 
sixteen inches long, though usually less than twelve. The shaft is 
scimeter shaped, the tip curving sharply so that it is usually directed 
somewhat downward, but the continuity of the anterior outline 
is broken by the “prong,” which springs from a point about half 
way between the base and the tip, as a triangular stub, with its 
point directed inward, forward, and upward. The tips are usually 
directed backward, or else turn inward so as nearly to meet. 
Occasionally, a specimen is seen in which one tip is directed in and 
one backward, and in a pair of horns now in my possession both tips 
are twisted so as to point forward and downward. While the horns 
usually rise straight from the head, only spreading very slightly, they 
are sometimes directed almost away from each other, like the horns 
of an ox, and on rare occasions a buck may be seen with one horn 
growing down over his face, in the style of “the cow with the 
crumpled horn.” Twice I have killed bucks with four horns, the extra 
ones being three or four inches long and attached loosely to the skin 
behind the normal horns. The female antelope is usually hornless, 
but a certain proportion of the does have small cylindrical horns, from 
one to three inches long, and without the prong. 

The hair of the antelope is peculiar, being coarse, spongy, and 
brittle, and so loosely attached to the skin that it is easily pulled off 
in handling. There is also an under-coat of fine wool, which is 
especially noticeable in spring when the coat is being shed. This 
species is provided with a number of glands in the skin, and these 
exhale a strong and disagreeable odor, which pervades the whole 

20 


306 The Antelope. 


skin and hair. From this odor the antelope was formerly called 
“goat,” cabree, and cabrit; but these names are obsolete. Prong- 
horn is its book name. 

The antelope was formerly found all over the plains and among 
the mountains of the west, wherever the country was adapted to it, 
from latitude 53 N. south into Mexico, and from about the meridian 
of 95 west longitude to the Pacific Ocean. There is no evidence 
to show that it ever ranged east of the Mississippi River. All 
through the great region indicated it was once abundant, and 
was equally at home on the flat prairies of the Platte River 
bottom, the broken bad lands of Dakota and Montana, or among the 
rugged foot-hills, sage-brush plateaus, and bald mountain slopes of 
the main range. It is essentially a dweller in the open country and 
is never found far back in the forests. What it requires, above all 
things, is a place from which it can overlook all its surroundings ; 
for, although the antelope’s powers of scent are very keen, it depends 
chiefly upon its eyes for warning of impending danger. Still, it is 
not true, as has been asserted by most writers on this species, that 
it has a great terror of forésts and is never found among them. In 
the Rocky Mountains, I have frequently seen antelope feeding among 
the timber in open pine forests, as well as where there was under- 
growth, and in North Park, Colorado, where a few years ago this 
species was to be found in great abundance, I have seen them by 
hundreds feeding in the bottom of Michigan Creek among thick 
willows, which were there from twenty to thirty feet high. In such 
situations they may be easily approached. It has been my experi- 
ence, however, that if they are once alarmed, it is impossible to drive 
antelope into the timber. During the summer they are fond of 
feeding high up in the mountains in the little grassy, park-like valleys 
which open into one another and become constantly smaller toward 
the higher ground, being thus often nearly or quite surrounded by 
thick forest. I have sometimes, on entering such a little park by the 
only opening into it, come upon a band of antelope, and seen them 
rush across the open, and then, as they approached the timber, turn 
and run around the whole circumference of the meadow, and at length, 
as if in desperation, turn again and run toward and by me, and out 
of the little opening, so close that I could have thrown a rope over 
any one of the band. 


The Antelope. 307 


The rutting season of the antelope begins in September and 
lasts nearly to the end of October. They are not always found 
in pairs at this season, though usually only a few are seen together, 
and these companies are likely to consist of individuals of the 
same sex. Just before and during the rutting season the bucks 
fight with considerable energy, though I have never seen any- 
thing quite like the description of their battles given by Audu- 
bon and Bachman. When two males meet, they come together 
head on and push vigorously, but no great amount of damage seems 
to result from such contests. On the other hand, an attack is often 
made by one buck on another without any warning. Such an assault 
I once witnessed late in September. Two bucks were following 
three or four does and kids, and walking quite near together, when 
suddenly the smaller of the two charged the other, striking him a 
terrible blow in the flank with his horns, and almost knocking him 
down. The large buck at once lowered his head and darted at his 
assailant, which, without any attempt at defense, took to his heels 
and ran like the wind for at least a mile, the other pursuing for half 
tne distance. Both then slowly returned to the neighborhood of 
the females, and after a little while, when the small buck found 
another good opportunity, he repeated the attack, exactly in the 
same manner, and was again chased away. By the time that the 
two had again returned to the does, the band had passed over some 
high bluffs and out of my sight. The larger bucks frequently chase 
the smaller ones away; but this does little good, as they immediately 
return again. Soon after the close of the rutting season, a partial 
migration takes place. The antelope which, during the summer, 
have inhabited the higher mountain valleys now move down to the 
lower lands, and there is in all localities more or less shifting about 
at the approach of severe weather. During the winter they collect 
in great bands, sometimes numbering several thousand individuals. 
At the approach of spring, these large herds break up into small 
companies, and scatter over their summer grazing grounds. 

Toward the last of May, the does are found singly upon the 
prairie. The kids are born in June and are two in number. Fora 
week or more they are not at all disposed to trust to their legs for 
safety, but hide in the low grass or among the sage brush, and at 
this time can be approached and caught in the hands without diffi- 


308 The Antelope 


culty, although a little later they can run fast and far. When capt- 
ured they become tame at once and are easily reared on cow’s 
milk. They are interesting, but rather inconvenient, pets; for they 
are so much at home about a house as to be rather in the way. At 
birth, the hair is crimped, almost curly, and they are brownish-gray 
in color, with very little white upon them, and are chiefly remarkable 
for the excessive length of their legs, on which they seem to have 
some difficulty in balancing themselves. Their color soon changes 
to that of the adults, but is everywhere of a paler cast. 

The cry of the antelope is a bleat, shorter than that of a goat 
and notso sharp; but this sound is scarcely ever heard by the hunter. 
When curious and somewhat suspicious they utter a sharp snort, 
pitched in a higher key than that of a deer; and when suddenly 
frightened, the bucks often communicate the alarm to their compan- 
ions bya sharp nasal call, best represented by the syllables dock-bock- 
bock, rapidly repeated. 

After man, the worst enemy of the antelope is the wolf. The 
gray wolf, no doubt, kills a great many ; but the coyote is the most 
destructive. The latter captures the young fawns soon after birth, 
his keen nose enabling him to detect them in their hiding-places. 
This discovered, he soon makes a meal of the tender morsel, pro- 
vided the mother be not near by. If she is at hand, and the coyote 
is alone, she will beat him off. Most of the antelope which the 
prairie wolves secure, however, are run down. ‘Three or four 
coyotes will start one, a single wolf pressing it hard and forcing 
the pace as much as possible, while the others lope along on either 
side of the line of flight, choosing the easiest ground, and saving 
themselves as much as possible by taking short cuts, when the chase 
circles. As soon as the immediate pursuer becomes tired, his place 
is taken by another which is comparatively fresh; and so the pur- 
suit is kept up, the wolves relieving each other from time to time, 
until the poor antelope is overtaken, pulled down, and torn to pieces. 
Sometimes, however, they escape out of the very jaws of their pur- 
suers, for I have occasionally killed individuals which had, several 
days before, been more or less torn about the legs and flanks by the 
teeth of the savage brutes. The golden eagle kills many wounded 
antelope and some kids, but is sometimes beaten off by the latter, 
as shown by an account of a battle witnessed by my friend, Mr. W. 


The Antelope. 309 


H. Reed, in October, 1882, near Como, Wyoming Territory, and 
communicated to the ‘Forest and Stream.” He says: 


“ Thursday, the 26th of this month, I saw a strange battle between two kid ante- 
lope and an eagle. The antelope, when first seen by myself and Mr. Carlin, were 
running in our direction, and above them, about one hundred feet, was a large golden 
eagle, which made a swoop down at the antelope. When the bird did this, one of the 
kids stopped, turned round and reared on its hind legs and beat the air with its fore- 
feet, and the bird of prey rose high in air, only to make another dash, with the same 
result. This was repeated at least a dozen times, when the eagle, seeming to become 
tired, flew away and settled himself on a rock, and the antelope trotted away to join 
a large band on a near hill-side.” 


Civilized man has proved himself the antelope’s worst enemy, and 
in those districts where hunters are numerous, this species soon dis- 
appears. The traveler kills it for food, the skin-hunter for the few 
cents its hide will bring, the sportsman for its head, the cow-boy to 
try his six-shooter, and everybody for “fun.” Not one man in a 
hundred can resist the temptation to shoot at the beautiful and grace- 
ful animal which chance or its curiosity brings within range of his 
rifle. That his wagon is already loaded with meat, that he cannot 
possibly utilize what he kills, makes no difference to him. He must 
try to slaughter as long as there is game in sight. 

To become a successful antelope hunter, it is more necessary that 
one should understand the habits of his game than that he should be 
a good shot. During the middle of the day, the antelope are usually 
lying down in places where they can have a wide outlook, and they 
are then most difficult to approach. For these resting-places, they 
select either a knoll in the midst of a broad valley or else the top of a 
bluff, or, perhaps, the middle slope of a wide, smooth hill-side, so that 
their gaze can cover all the country about them. The best time for 
hunting them is in the morning or evening, when they are scattered 
about on the hill-sides and in the little valleys, feeding. At such times 
they are most easily approached, and the hunter takes advantage of 
the inequalities of the ground to discover their presence in time to suc- 
cessfully stalk them. The essential point is that he should see the 
antelope before they descry him, for if their suspicions are once 
aroused, it is almost hopeless to attempt to get within shot of them. 
As soon as one of these wary creatures sees an object about which 
he feels doubtful, he takes a long, patient stare at it, and unless sat- 

20A 


310 The Antelope 


isfied that it is something usual and harmless, runs to the top of 
the nearest hill, and from that point again scrutinizes it. If now the 
object passes out of sight behind any cover, the antelope at once 
shifts his position to the top of another hill. But in localities where 
they have been much hunted, the sight of a mounted man, even at a 
great distance, is enough to set the antelope in motion, and they run 
off at once without waiting to inspect him. The sight of one running 
band alarms all those in the neighborhood, and they all move off to 
points from which they can obtain a good outlook. 

In hunting large game, of whatever kind, caution and patience 
are prime requisites for success; and in the pursuit of no species are 
these more necessary than with the antelope. It is so constantly on 
the alert, and its eyesight is so keen, that all the hunter’s care is 
needed to enable him to beat it with its own weapons and on its own 
ground. When hunting antelope, therefore, it is important to go 
slowly, and to look over the ground in front of you very carefully 
before showing yourself. When you approach the crest of a hill, do 
not ride your horse quite up to the top of it, but stop him before 
reaching the summit, dismount, and drop the lariat; or, if he is 
broken in the usual plains fashion, throw the bridle-rein over his 
head, and walk carefully to the top. As you approach it, move 
slowly. Do not raise your head and shoulders at once to look over 
the ridge, for there may be a band of antelope within a few yards of 
you. Take off your hat, for its crown is several inches above your 
eyes, and can therefore be seen before you yourself can see. Raise 
your head very gradually, and as it rises keep the eyes moving 
from side to side, so as to take in all the ground on either side of, 
and beyond, as well as immediately in front of you. If you should 
see the game, do not duck down your head at once, unless you are 
positive that the animals have not observed you, but lower it with 
the same slow motion. A sudden movement is very likely to 
attract attention, while a slow one will be almost sure to escape 
notice. If your game is within range, you will of course take your 
shot as soon as you please, but it may be at some distance, and 
in such a situation that by taking advantage of some ravine, or hill, 
or depression in the prairie, you can creep up close enough to shoot. 
To do this you may have to make a long detour before reaching the 
desired point. In such a case, notice carefully the lay of the land and 


The Antelope. ails 


the position of the game, for from a different point of view the bluffs 
and landmarks may look so differently that you may have to look a 
long time for the animals, and while doing so may expose yourself to 
their view. Remember to watch the wind, for the antelope’s nose is a 
good one and will tell him of your presence if you come between him 
and the breeze. Perhaps the band may be at a distance, and there 
may appear no way of approaching it. In this case, it will be worth 
your while to sit down and wait a little, to see if they will not feed 
up nearer to you, and so give youa shot. Do not be too anxious 
to know just what they are doing. Every time you raise your head 
above the bluff, some one of the animals will be likely to see it, and, 
unless they are frightened by you, they are not likely to make any 
sudden movement. Do not be too impatient to get your shot. 
Deliberation will serve you well. When you shoot, aim close behind 
the fore shoulder and just about where the white and the red meet ; 
for the antelope’s heart lies low, and, if you hold true, you will have 
meat in camp that night. 

In hunting antelope, it is best always to travel upon the higher 
ground, since the game is much less likely to see an object above 
than below or on the same level with it. Keep to the ridges, there- 
fore, and as you surmount each one, scan all the ground with care 
before you show yourself. There may be an antelope lying down 
behind some little rise of ground very near you; or perhaps a red 
back or the black tips of a pair of horns may be just visible over the 
edge of some ravine, and may at first escape your eye, if you are in 
a hurry. 

Although, where antelope have been much hunted, the sight of a 
man, even if a long way off, will cause them to run, there are other 
localities where they are so tame as to permit one to ride within 
three or four hundred yards without manifesting much uneasiness. 
In such cases, the animals are curious rather than timid, and will 
sometimes run toward the hunter; and if he throws himself flat on 
the ground, they may approach within one hundred yards, or even 
aearer. This only takes place when they have been but little hunted. 
In a buffalo country, or where there are cattle, they are sometimes 
very unsuspicious. The old bucks ordinarily manifest more curios- 
ity than the does, but with it is mingled an astonishing amount 
of shrewdness, and many instances of their cunning might be 


312 The Antelope. 


related. The yearling bucks are possessed of this same spirit of 
investigation, but are wholly without the wisdom of their seniors, 
and thus often fall an easy prey to the hunter, frequently walking up 
to within shooting distance, and standing there stamping and snort- 
ing, until a rifle-ball satisfies their curiosity. 

Antelope are often hunted with greyhounds, and this is a most 
noble sport. To practice it successfully, dogs of unusual power 
and endurance are required, as well as horses of great speed, for the 
pleasure of the chase is lost unless the hunter keeps the game in 
view. When I have seen them used, the Scotch staghounds have 
not proved fleet enough to overtake the antelope, and the most 
successful dogs have been large, smooth greyhounds. 

Within the past ten years, the antelope have been exterminated 
in many localities where they were once abundant. The West is 
now filling up more rapidly than ever before, and with the advance 
of the settlements comes, in one district after another, the extinction 
of the antelope. Already along the line of the Union Pacific Rail- 
road they have been driven from the Missouri River to the borders 
of Wyoming Territory ; and, as the farmer breaks up the prairie, 
the stockman scatters his cattle, and the shepherd leads his flocks 
into regions hitherto unoccupied, the antelope must retreat before 
their advance, and seek for himself some feeding-ground where 
man has not yet penetrated. Sucha feeding-ground he will seek in 
vain. The shrill whistle of the locomotive, quivering over the wide 
prairie or waking the echoes of the once silent mountain valleys, 
has sounded the death-knell of large game in the West. 


A MU SK-OX. EXUIN Fr 


V 


By FREDERICK SCHWATKA. 


OR about twelve months, during 1879 and ’8o0, I was traveling 
by sledge in the arctic regions with a party of twenty persons. 
During that time, we depended for our food, as well as for that 

of our forty-two dogs, upon the game of the country, twice traversed 
by us, stretching from the waters of North Hudson’s Bay to the 
Arctic Ocean. The design of subsisting for so long a time upon the 
game of those bleak, dreary regions entailed a great variety of hunt- 
ing adventures. And to describe one of the incidents of a hunt after 
musk-oxen, or musk-sheep as they are sometimes called, is the object 
of this article. 

Our route led us from the northernmost point of Hudson’s Bay 
directly to the nearest available point on Back’s Great Fish River, 
which empties into the Arctic Ocean just south of the large island 
known as King William’s Land, on which island and adjacent main- 
land Sir John Franklin’s party of over a hundred British seamen 
perished in 1848-49, and whose sad fate it was the object of this 
expedition, as far as possible, to determine. This route lay directly 
across country. The bulk of authorities on arctic sledging, both 
white and native, bore against long overland sledge journeys, an 
opinion to which they often gave practical illustration by unneces- 
sary detours to follow salt-water ice or sinuous water-courses. Our 
course, therefore, had never been traveled by either white men or 
natives, and the latter, who formed an important element of the 
expedition, advised against it. The Indians of the north, as I found 
them, are loath to enter a totally unknown country. They knew 
almost nothing of the game of the region, so thev said, but believed 


314 A Musk-Ox Hunt. 


that musk-oxen would be found, and if they proved to be plentiful 
they were willing to undertake the journey. Accordingly, a prelim- 
inary reconnaissance as far as Wager River was made by me in 
January, 1879, and although no musk-oxen were actually seen, we 
found abundant traces of them. These facts overcame the objections 
of the natives, who now readily assented to accompany us. Our 
party was well armed with the finest breech-loaders and magazine 
guns, and carried an ample supply of fixed ammunition. The hunt- 
ing force of the party consisted of four full-grown Eskimo men, and 
three Eskimo boys, ranging from twelve to eighteen, and the four 
white men. 

We left North Hudson’s Bay on the first day of April, 1879, and, 
by the 8th of the month, were, according to our natives, in what 
they termed the musk-ox country, the locality in which they had 
been accustomed to hunt these huge monsters during winter trips 
from the sea-coast, where the natives live the greater part of the 
year. But the musk-cattle of the Arctic are so sparsely distributed 
that they form only a small part of the game necessary to furnish 
these northern nomads with their yearly supplies, and they place 
very little reliance upon them. ‘he annual musk-ox hunt, however, 
is looked forward to with much interest, and is long in advance the 
burden of their conversation, while housed in their little snow huts. 
It is in the sport and excitement of the chase that they find the 
greatest reward, and not in the meat secured, nor in the half-worth- 
less robes that are thus obtained. These robes are almost of no 
value to them unless they be near some trading station or whale- 
ships wintering in the ice. To us, however, their huge carcasses 
were, as food for our three teams of dogs, of great importance com- 
pared with that of the reindeer or any other game that we would be 
likely to fall in with. 

On April oth, we came upon a large trail of musk-cattle. The 
sign was tolerably old, some six or seven days at least; but one of 
the peculiarities of the animals is that they will travel very slowly 
when undisturbed and in good grazing country, and this same herd, 
so the Eskimo believed, was not far off. They tried to persuade me 
with all the vehemence of savage logic to remain a day or two in the 
vicinity and hunt them, but the larder was still too full to warrant 
any such delay, and we pushed on. 


Be 


§ 
i 


x 


A Musk-Ox Flunt. Ly, 


Again, on the 13th, we came upon the fresh trail of a large herd 
of these cattle, and | had the hardest work imaginable persuading 
these natives to pass on without following it up. The Eskimos have 
far more excitability in the presence of game or its sign than any 
other race of people I have encountered, not even excepting the 
various Indian tribes of our great western plains. j 

Before we had fairly gone into camp, on the 22d,—and by going 
into camp on an arctic sledge journey is meant the building of pecul- 
iarily constructed domes of snow, or snow-houses, the unharnessing 
of the dogs, et cetera, 


a most furious gale of wind arose, which 
raged so terribly for five days that even the natives found it prudent 
not to stay out of the snow-huts for any considerable time ; and this 
enforced idleness reduced our commissary to an alarming minimum. 
We managed, however, to get away by the 28th, the storm even then 
only slightly abating; and, after traveling nineteen miles in a north- 
north-west direction, we went into camp, the weather somewhat 
better, but the larder in areduced condition. Shortly after camping, 
ik-queé-sik, my Netschilluk Eskimo guide, who had absented him- 
self while the zgZoos, or snow-houses, were being built, came running 
excitedly into the village from a distant high hill, the perspiration in 
huge drops streaming down his brown and dirty face, and with my 
army signal telescope, full drawn, under one arm. While gasping 
for breath, he reported that he had seen a herd of eight or ten musk- 
oxen about four or five miles to the northward, slowly grazing along 
to the west, and evidently unaware of danger. Everything was put 
aside, and every Eskimo, man, woman and child, was soon at the top 
of a high hill near by, and a dozen dirty and eager natives were 
clamoring to look through the telescope. We were not long in coming 
to the decision that the next day should be devoted to securing as 
many as possible of the long-haired monsters, Ik-queé-sik’s discovery 
having been made too late to risk an attack so near. night-fall. 

Our dogs, that had been loosened from their harnesses, were now 
secured to the overturned sledges and to other heavy materials, to 
prevent their scampering after the game should they scent them in 
the night, as their ravenous appetites would undoubtedly prompt 
them to do; while around each animal's nose was closely wound a 


muzzle of seal or walrus line thongs, to prevent the usual concert of 
prolonged howls. 


318 A Musk-Ox Flunt. 


The following morning, a heavy drifting fog threatened to spoil 
our sport and lose us our coveted meat, but we managed to get away 
soon aiter eight o'clock, having a party of eleven rifles, with two 
Eskimo women, two light sledges, and all the dogs. At that hour 
the great thick clouds seemed to be lifting, but shortly after starting 
the fog settled down upon us again. After some two or three hours 
of wandering around in the drifting mist, guiding our movements as 
much as possible by the direction of the wind, which we had pre- 
viously determined, we came plump upon the trail, apparently not 
over ten minutes old, of some six or seven of the animals. Great 
fears were entertained by the experienced hunters that the musk- 
oxen had heard our approach, and were now probably “doing their 
level best” to escape. The sledges were immediately stopped, and 
the dogs rapidly unhitched from them, from one to three or four being 
given to each of the eleven men and boys, white or native, that were 
present, who, taking their harnesses in their left hands or tying them 
in slip-nooses around their waists, started without delay upon the 
trail, leaving the two sledges and a few of the poorer dogs in charge 
of the Innuit women, who had come along for that purpose, and who 
would follow on the trail with the empty sledges as soon as firing 
was heard. The dogs, many of them old musk-ox hunters, and with 
appetites doubly sharpened by hard work and a constantly diminish- 
ing ration, tugged like mad at their seal-skin harness lines, as. they 
half buried their eager noses in the tumbled snow of the trail, and 
hurried their attached human being along at a flying rate that threat- 
ened a broken limb or neck at each of the rough ‘gorges and jutting 
precipices of the broken, stony hill-land where the exciting chase 
was going on. The rapidity with which an agile native hunter can 
run when thus attached to two or three excited dogs is astonishing. 
Whenever a steep valley was encountered, the Eskimos would slide 
down on their feet, in a sitting posture, throwing the loose snow to 
their sides like escaping steam from a hissing locomotive, until the 
bottom was reached, when, quick as thought, they would throw 
themselves at full length upon the snow, and the wild, excited brutes 
would drag them up the other side, where, regaining their feet, they 
would run on at a constantly accelerating gait, their guns in the 
meantime being held in the right hand or tightly lashed upon the 


back. 


A Musk-Ox Hunt. 221 


~ 


We had hardly gone a mile in this harum-scarum chase before it 
became evident that the musk-oxen were but a short distance ahead, 
on the keen run, and the foremost hunters began loosening their 
dogs to bring the oxen to bay as soon as possible; and then, for the 
first time, these intelligent creatures gave tongue in deep, long bay- 
ing, as they shot forward like arrows and disappeared over the 
crests of the hills, amidst a perfect bewilderment of flying snow and 
fluttering harness traces. The discord of shouts and howling told us 
plainly that some of the animals had been brought to bay not far dis- 
tant, and we soon heard a rapid series of sharp reports from the 
breech-loaders and magazine guns of the advanced hunters. We 
white men arrived just in time to see the final struggle. The oxen 
presented a most formidable-looking appearance, with their rumps 
firmly wedged together, a complete circle of swaying horns presented 
to the front, with great blood-shot eyeballs glaring like red-hot shot 
amidst the escaping steam from their panting nostrils, and pawing 
and plunging at the circle of furious dogs that encompassed them. 


The rapid blazing of magazine guns right in their faces—so close, 


often, as to burn their long, shaggy hair 


5 


added to the striking scene. 
Woe to the overzealous dog that was unlucky enough to get his 
harness-line under the hoofs of a charging and infuriated musk-ox ; 
for they will follow up a leash along the ground with a rapidity and 
certainty that would do credit to a tight-rope performer, and either 
paw the poor creature to death or fling him high in the air with 
their horns. 

Although we tired and panting white men rested where the first 
victims fell, Too-loéd-ah, my best hunter,—an agile, wiry young 
Iwillik Eskimo of about twenty-six, with the pluck and endurance of 
a blooded horse,—and half the dogs, pressed onward after the scat- 
tered remnants of the herd, and succeeded in killing two more after 
a hard run for three miles. The last one he would probably not 
have overtaken if the swiftest dog, Parseneuk, had not chased him to 
the edge of a steep precipice. Here a second’s hesitation gave the dog 
a chance to fasten on the ox’s heels, and the next moment Parseneuk 
was making an involuntary aerial ascent, which was hardly finished 
before Too-loé-ah had put three shots from his Winchester carbine into 
the brute’s neck and head, whereupon the two animals came to earth 
together, — Parseneuk on the soft snow at the bottom of the twenty- 

21 


322 A Musk-Ox Huut. 


PARSENEUK IN A TIGHT PLACE. 


foot precipice, fortunately unhurt. Parseneuk was a trim-built animal 
that I had secured from the Kinnepetoo Eskimo, who inhabit the 
shores of Chesterfield Inlet, being one of the very few tribes of the 
great Eskimo family, from the Straits of Belle Isle to those of 
Behring Sea, who live away from the sea-coasts. They subsist 
principally upon the flesh of the reindeer, and their dogs are 
adepts in hunting these fleet animals, Parseneuk being particularly 
swift and intelligent as a hunter. He had been the favorite in 
the Kinnepetoo family from whom he was purchased, and I had 
to appease several of them with presents, as indirect damages to 
their affections. He had a beautiful head, with sleek muzzle and 
fox-like nose, while his pointed ears peered cunningly forth in 
strange contrast with the many other dogs that I have met, whose 
broken and mutilated ears (usually restored in illustrations of arctic 
scenes) showed plainly the fights and quarrels in which they had 
figured. Parseneuk, as a favorite, had been raised and fed in the 


A Musk-Ox Hunt. 222 


zgloo, under the fostering protection of the old squaw, and being 
saved the necessity of combating for his daily bread, thus pre- 
served his ears. 

The chase finished, the half-famished dogs received all they could 
eat,—their first full feast in over three weeks,—and after loading 
the two sledges with the remaining meat and a few of the finer 
robes as mementos and trophies, we returned to our morning's 
camp, a distance of five or six miles, which we traveled slowly 
enough, our over-fed dogs hardly noticing the most vigorous appli- 
cations of the well-applied whip. 

The Eskimos with whom I was brought in contact never hunt the 
musk-oxen without a plentiful supply of well-trained dogs, for with 
their help the hunters are almost certain of securing the whole herd, 
unless the animals are apprised of the approach, as they were in our 
encounter with them. When the flying herd has been brought to 
bay in their circle of defense by the dogs, the Eskimo hunters 
approach within five or six feet and make sure of every shot that 
is fired, as a wounded animal is somewhat dangerous and extremely 
liable to stampede the herd. <A band of these brutes, when once 
stampeded, are much harder to bring to bay the second time; but it 
may be well to mention that, if the hunt is properly managed, such 
stampedes are extremely rare. When the circle of cattle is first 
approached, the hunters take care to dispatch first the active and 
aggressive bulls, conformably to a general hunting maxim followed 
in all parts of the world. As their members fall, one at a time, the 
musk-oxen persist in their singular mode of defense, presenting their 
ugly-looking horns toward as many points of the compass as their 
remaining numbers will allow. When but two only are left, these, 
with rumps together, will continue the unequal battle, and even the 
last ‘‘forlorn hope” will back up against the largest pile of his dead 
comrades, or against a large rock or snow-bank, and defy his 
pursuers, dogs and hunters, until his death. While the calves 
are too young and feeble to take their places in ranks, which, in 
general, is about the first eight or nine months of their existence, 
they occupy the interior space formed by the defensive circle; 
but when their elders have perished in their defense, with an 
instinct born of the species they will form in the same order and 
show fight. ; 


324 A Musk-Ox Fluut. 


ON THE TRAIL, 


The calves are born about the month of May, in this portion of 
the country, and have the same dirty-brown, awkward, ugly-looking 
appearance as the buffalo calves of the plains. They can be readily 
captured alive by the Eskimo dogs, if the hunters are near enough to 
prevent their being immediately killed by these ravenous animals; but 
in these inhospitable regions, it is impossible to furnish them with 
proper nourishment to sustain life until they can be transferred to 
a vessel, which, moreover, can only escape from here during the 
autumn months; consequently, there are no cases on record, I 
believe, where these most curious animals have been exhibited in the 


A Musk-Ox FHuut. 325 


temperate zones. The natives told me they had kept calves alive for 
a few days, but they sank so rapidly they killed them for food. 

Before the Eskimo hunters were provided with the fire-arms of 
civilization, procured in trade with the Hudson’s Bay Company or 
American whale-ships, they used the bow and arrow or the lance, 
dashing fearlessly past the brutes as they buried the sharpened bone 
lance-head deep in some vital part. In the olden times, one of their 
tests of manly courage was for the hunter to pass within the circle 
of animals and return, backward and forward, killing one of the oxen 
at each passage. Of such feats, the old gray-haired men of the tribes 
still boast. 

One old Iwillik Innuit—so I was told by his tribe, and they are 
not given to vain boasting,—while traveling with dogs and sledge 
from one village to another, during his younger days, came suddenly 
and unexpectedly upon a couple of musk-oxen that had strayed far 
from their usual haunts. Unhitching his dogs from the sledge, he 
soon brought the oxen to bay. His only weapon was a ‘“‘snow- 
knife,” a kind of long-bladed butcher-knife which they use to cut 
the blocks of snow in constructing heir houses of that material. 
Nothing daunted, however, he courageously attacked them, and in a 
few minutes had secured both. 

The danger from these formidable and ferocious-looking brutes 
is undoubtedly more apparent than real, judging from the few acci- 
dents that occur. The dogs are frequently killed by being tossed in 
the air or pawed to death as already described. The musk-bulls 
are prevented from following up a dog’s trailing harness-line by 
attaching a toggle noose where the trace joins the harness at the 
root of the dog’s tail when the traces are separated from the dogs 
before they are slipped for the chase ; also, a sure way is to fold the 
trace into a ‘“‘ bundle noose” until it rests on the dog’s back. The 
trained Eskimo dog never barks in the presence of game until lib- 
erated from his master’s hands. 

The musk-ox of the Arctic is only about two-thirds the size of 
the bison, or American buffalo, but in appearance he is nearly as 
large, owing to his immense heavy coat of long hair that covers him 
down below the knees, as if he were carrying a load of black brush. 
As his generic name (Ovzbos moschatus ) imports, he seems to form 
a connection between the ox and the sheep. His peculiar covering 

2A 


- 326 A Musk-Ox Hunt. 


AT BAY. 


makes him look like a huge ram, to which his horns add much of 
similarity. In fact, this covering partakes of the character of both 
wool and hair. First, there is a dense coat of blackish-brown hair 
like that on the hump, shoulders, and fore-legs of the buffalo, which 
extends over the whole body and is, I believe, never shed. Below 
this there is an undercoating of soft, light brown wool, which is shed 
annually, and which is invisible through the outer coat, unless parted 
by the hands. This seems to be a true wool and of the finest 
texture. A Mr. Pennant, an English gentleman, gives an instance 
of a man of his, by the name of Jeremy, having woven from this 
inner fleece of the musk-ox a pair of stockings which were as fine as 
any of the best silk stockings. 

During the summer months, just after this fleece is shed, it is 
still found, matted into the long black hair, and is only prevented 
from falling to the ground by this interweaving process. The short ~ 
hair on their foreheads is very often found matted into little balls or 
small lumps with ordinary dirt, showing unmistakably that they use 
their heads and horns in tearing up the earth. This they have been 


A Musk-Ox Flunt. 227 


seen to do when closely pressed and brought to bay; but they are so 
seldom hunted that we may suppose their head and horns are used 
in removing the snow from the mossy patches where they graze in 
the winter-time. Their horns, from their peculiar shape, would 
certainly make excellent snow shovels. 

The shape of these weapons of defense is certainly most peculiar. 
Starting from the median line of the forehead, at which point the 
horns are joined base to base, they present a thick, flat plate, or 
shield, of corrugated horn almost a foot in width. As these flat 
shields circle around the eyes, about four inches from them, the 
outer edges are gradually incurvated until, about half way between 
the eyes and nostrils, a perfect horn is) formed. From here it 
tapers, curling upward near its extremity with a jauntiness worthy 
of a Limerick hook. To the natives of the north, these horns 
afford many implements of the chase and household utensils. They 
thoroughly understand the well-known principle of steaming the 
horn in order to render it soft while it is being worked. 

The native bow is usually made of two or three sections of 
musk-ox horn, tipped with the shorter horn of the reindeer, the 
whole being firmly lashed with braid made from the sinew on the 
superficial dorsal muscles of the reindeer, a cluster of these braids 
about as thick as a man’s middle finger running the length of the 
back of the bow to give it strength and elasticity. 1 found the 
Eskimos of King William’s Land and vicinity using copper 
stripped from Sir John Franklin’s ships to rivet their bows to- 
gether. The Eskimo bow is not in any way equal to the Indian 
bow, seldom being effective at over forty or fifty yards with such 
game as the reindeer. Except as children’s playthings, bows have 
entirely disappeared, wherever intercourse with the Hudson’s Bay 
Company or American whalers has placed fire-arms in the hands 
of the natives, and this includes the whole of the great Eskimo 
family (or Innuits, as they should be properly called), except those 
stretched along the shores of the Arctic Ocean from about King 
William’s Land on the east to the farthest point reached by Ameri- 
can whalers from the Pacific on the west. 

A camp is always picked near a lake which the Eskimos know, 
* by certain’ signs, has not yet frozen to the bottom. This fact is 
ascertained by placing their pug noses in close proximity to the 


328 A Musk-Ox Hunt. 


upper surface, when the peculiar hues indicate the presence or 
absence of water. While the most of the party are building their 
little huts of snow for the night's encampment, some cne takes 
the ice-scoop and chisel and fares out on the lake and selects a 
place for his operations. He then digs a hole with the chisel 
about a foot in diameter, and nearly the same depth, by repeated 
vertical strokes, and when the chopped ice or débris thus formed 
commences choking this instrument, it is removed with the ice- 
scoop, and this alternation of cutting and removal is kept up until 
the water is reached, at from four to eight or ten feet below. 
This digging requires far more dexterity than one would at first 
glance suppose. The amateur finds it impossible to keep it from 
rapidly narrowing to a point long before the water is reached. 
Moreover, if the débris be too freely chopped it becomes reduced 
to a sort of ice-dust, which will pack in so firmly toward the 
finishing of the water-hole that the edge of the scoop cannot be 
wedged under it, with its limited play of action. The children 
and old women of the village may draw many a meal of goodly- 
sized salmon through this avenue, and this necessitates that the 
hole should be of fair size throughout. One of the most annoy- 
ing events of my sledge journey was, after a long and unsuccessful 
attempt to catch something at one of these water-holes, to find 
myself suddenly at one, and a big salmon at the other, end of a 
strong fish-line, separated by an ice-hole through which neither 
could pass. 

The range of musk-cattle is quite extensive. They occupy the 
extreme northern shores of Greenland on both the east and west 
coasts as far as they have been explored, and these two ranges are 
probably connected around the northernmost point of this great polar 
continent. They occur on both sides of Smith Sound, and in general 
frequent arctic America from latitude 60° to 79° north, and from 
longitude 67° 30’ west, almost to the Pacific coast. It is, however, in 
the great stretch of hilly country lying between North Hudson's Bay 
and its estuaries on the south and east, and the Arctic Ocean with 
its intricate channels on the north and west, that these animals are 
found in the largest herds and greatest numbers. Captain Hall, in 
his sledge journey from Repulse Bay to King William’s Land, in* 
1869, killed 79 musk-oxen, whose hides alone weighed 873 pounds. 


A Musk-Ox Hunt. 329 


Dr. Rae, the celebrated Scotch explorer of this region of the Arctic, 
also secured large numbers of them. The musk-ox occurs fossil- 
ized at Escholtz Bay on the north-west coast, and fossil oxen found 
in different sections of the United States, and which closely 
resemble the musk-ox, have been described by Dr. Leidy in the 
Smithsonian Institution’s reports. These were clothed in a long 
fleece, and roamed through the Mississippi Valley just before the 
great drift period. Fossil musk-oxen exist in Siberia and north- 
ern Europe; but their living descendants, of which one species is 
known, are now strictly confined to the arctic region of the Western 
continent. 

The musk-ox derives its name from the peculiar odor which it 
emits, and which to a greater or less extent also pervades the meat 
of the animal. The younger animals, however, are much milder, 
and with the calves I have never been able to discern it at all. Much 
of this odor can be obviated by dressing the animal as soon as 
killed, especially if it is cold weather, and this rule may be said to 
be more or less general with all animals and birds having disagree- 
able odors peculiar to their kind. 

I have said the robes are almost worthless to the natives except 
for purposes of traffic. They are sometimes used to spread on the 
snow-bed, as the first layer of skins, in order to protect the snow 
from the heat of the body; but even here they are not nearly so serv- 
iceable as the robe of the reindeer, owing to the facility with which 
the snow can be removed from the latter by a few strokes of a stick. 
The Ookjoolik, or Ooqueesik-Salik Eskimos of Hayes River, who 
are not armed, and consequently can procure but few reindeer (whose 
hide is the universal arctic clothing), often make long boot-leggings 
and gloves of musk-ox fur, and this gives them a peculiarly wild and 
savage appearance that contrasts strangely with other natives. The 
almost total absence of wood in their country—the little they get 
being obtained by barter with distant and more fortunate tribes — 
forces them to use the skin of the musk-ox for sledging in their 
country. The ears and fore-legs of the skin being lashed almost 
together, a sledge-like front is obtained, and the articles to be trans- 
ported are loaded on the trailing body behind. Over lakes, rivers, 
and flat plains, it is equal to wood, but in very uneven ground its 
pliability is dangerous to fragile loads. 


330 A Musk-Ox Huut. 


When closely pressed, the musk-oxen do not hesitate to throw 
themselves from the steepest and deepest precipices, and the natives 
speak of occasions where they have secured them in this manner 
without wasting powder or lead, finding them dead at the foot of the 
descent. Sir James Clarke Ross had a personal observation of this 
kind in one of his arctic expeditions. 

McClintock once saw a cow on Melville Island, in the Parry 
archipelago, which was of a pure white color, an albino sort of devia- 
tion that is known to occur among the buffalo of the plains at rare 
intervals. She was, however, accompanied by a black calf. This 
Melville Island is abundantly peopled with these oxen, not less than 
one hundred and fourteen being shot within a year by the crews of 
two ships wintering there. When inhabiting islands, they do not 
seem to cross from one to another, as the reindeer constantly do when 
the channel is frozen over, and even confine their annual migrations 
to very limited areas. Different writers disagree as to whether they 
can be called migratory in the strict sense of the word. If white men 
are hunting them without dogs, they may station themselves about a 
herd, close in to seventy or eighty yards, and then, by picking off 
the restless ones first, so bewilder the remainder that, with fair luck, 
they may secure them all. There are several instances of such 
methods being tolerably successful. When the temperature reaches 
the extremes of the bitter winter weather, as from —60° to —70° 
Fahrenheit, the musk-oxen and reindeer herds can be located, at 
from six to seven miles distance, by the cloud of moisture which 
hangs over them, formed by their condensing breath, and from 
favorable heights at even fifteen to twenty miles. Even at these 
extreme distances, the native hunters claim that they can discern the 
difference between musk-oxen and reindeer by some varying peculi- 
arities of their vapors. 

I remember being one of a party of six—five Innuits besides my- 
self —that chased on a fresh trail of a small herd of musk-oxen from 
about nine o'clock in the morning until night-fall, which was four in 
the afternoon. We went at a gait which would be called a good 
round ‘“dog-trot” for the whole time (except one small rest of five 
minutes). This is much easier than one would imagine, with a couple 
of dogs harnessed to you to tow you along; yet I confess I was 
completely fagged out, after this little run of not less than forty or 


A Musk-Ox Hunt. 201 


fifty miles, and ina fine condition to believe many stories of endurance 
while on hunting chases that I had heard them tell. The thermom- 
eter at camp registered 65° below zero, yet there was no suffering from 
the still cold during such exercise, and, in fact, at times, I felt uncom- 
fortably warm. 

One of their peculiarities which I have noticed is that when 
slightly wounded, if they have been knocked over upon their sides, 
they seem perfectly powerless to rise, either from fear or the peculiar 
formation of their legs. Two of the animals we shot on the 20th 
of April received each a broken shoulder and were knocked on their 
sides. The native men, women, and boys sat upon their heaving 
sides, evidently enjoying the cruel sport, and all the white men par- 
ticipated for a mere second, rather to please their savage allies, 
until I requested them to dispatch the brutes, which they did by a 
well-directed heart thrust with a snow-knife. My natives spoke of 
this occurrence as a rather common incident of the musk-ox battle- 


field. 


AN ESKIMO CAMP. 


| 
—_  * 


I shall stay him no longer than to wish him a 
rainy evening to read this following discourse ; 3 and 
that, if he be an honest angler, the east” wind may -. 


never blow when he goes a fishing. 
Ge Walton. 


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v 
By BARNET PHILLIPS, 


SECRETARY OF THE AMERICAN FISH CULTURAL ASSOCIATION 


HAVE before me an illustrated catalogue of modern fish-hooks 

and angling implements, and in looking over its pages I find an 

embarras de choix. \ have no need for rods, for mine, like well- 
kept violins, have rather improved by age. A lashing may be frayed, 
or a ferrule loose, but fifteen minutes’ pleasant work will make my 
rods all right again. Lines are sound, for I have carefully stretched 
them after use. But my hooks! They are certainly the worse for wear. 
I began my season’s fishing with a meager stock. Friends borrowed 
from me, and in replenishing my fly-book in an out-of-the-way place, 
the purchase was unsatisfactory. As I lost more than one fish from 
badly tempered or worse fashioned hooks, I recalled a delightful paper 
by Mr. Froude. Rod in hand, he was whipping some pleasant trout 
stream, near an historic site, the home of the Russells, and, breaking 
his hooks, commenced from that very moment to indulge in the 
gloomiest forebodings as to the future of England. 

Fairly familiar with the general character of fishing-gear, either 
for business or amusement, I see in my book, Kirby, Limerick, 
Dublin, O'Shaughnessy, Kinsey, Carlisle, Harrison, Central Draught, 
as somewhat distant families of hooks, used for sea or river fishing, 
and from these main stocks there grow many varieties, with all con- 
ceivable twists, quirls, and crookednesses. | discard all trap-hooks, 
infernal machines working with springs, as only adapted for the 
capture of land animals. Somehow I remember an aggressive book, 
given to me at an early age, which, containing more than one 


22 


338 The Primitive Fish- Hook. 


depressing passage, had one of extraordinary malevolence. This 
was couched nearly as follows: ‘‘Suppose you were translated only 
some seven hundred years back, then, pray, what would you be good 
for? Could you make gunpowder? You have, perhaps, a vague 
idea that sulphur, saltpeter, and charcoal are the component parts, 
but do you know where or how they are procured?” I forget 
whether this dispiriting author was not equally harrowing in regard 
to the youthful reader’s turning off a spectroscope at a minute’s 
notice, or wound up with the modest request that you should try your 
hand among the Crusaders with an aneroid barometer of your own 
special manufacture. 

Still this question arises: Suppose you were famishing, though 
fish were plenty in a stream, and you had neither line nor hook, 
What would you do? Now, has a condition of this kind ever 
occurred? Yes, it has, and certainly thousands of times. Not so 
many years ago, the early surveyors of the Panama route suffered 
terrible privations from the want of fishing implements. The rains 
had rendered their powder worthless; they could not use their guns. 
Had they only been provided with hooks and lines, they could have 
subsisted on fish. Then there are circumstances under which it 
would be really necessary for a man to be somewhat of a Jack-of-all- 
trades, and to be able to fashion the implements he might require, 
and so this crabbed old book might, after all, act in the guise of a 
useful reminder. There was certainly a period, when every man 
was in a condition of comparative helplessness, when his existence 
depended on his proficiency in making such implements as would 
catch fish or kill animals. He must fashion hooks or something else 
to take fish with, or die. 

Probably man, in the first stage of his existence, took much of 
his food from the water, although whether he did or not might 
depend upon locality. If on certain portions of the earth’s surface 
there were stretches of land intersected by rivers, dotted by lakes, or 
bordering on the seas, the presence of shell-fish, the invertebrates or 
the vertebrates, cetaceans and fish, to the exclusion of land animals, 
might have rendered primitive man icthyophagous, or dependent for 
subsistence upon the art of fishing. But herein we grapple at once 
with that most abstruse of all problems, the procession of life. Still, 
it is natural to suppose, so far as the study of man goes, when con- 


The Primitive Fish-Flook. 339 


sidered in relation to his pursuits, that in the early dawn of humanity, 
mammals, birds, and fish must have been synchronous. 

After brute instinct, which is imitativeness, then came shiftiness 
and adaptiveness. The rapid stride of civilization, considered in its 
material sense, is due solely to the use of such implements as are 
specially adapted for a particular kind of work. With primitive man, 
this could never have been the case. Tools of the Paleolithic or 
Neolithic age (which terms indicate stages of civilization, but are 
not chronological), whether they were axes, hammers, or arrows, 
must have served river-drift or cave-men for more than a single pur- 
pose. People with few tools do manage by skill alone to adapt 
these to a variety of ends. The Fijian and the Russian peasant, one 
with a stone adze, the other with a hatchet, bring to their trades the 
minimum of tools. The Kafir, with his assegai, fights his battles, 
kills cattle, carves his spoons, and shaves himself. It was only as 
man advanced that he devised special tools for different purposes. 

According to our present acquaintance with primitive habits, if 
man existed in the later Miocene age, and used a lance or spear for 
the killing of land animals, he probably employed the same weapons 
for the destruction of the creatures—possibly of gigantic form— 
inhabiting the seas, lakes, and rivers. The presence of harpoons 
made of bone, found in so many localities, belonging to a later 
period, may not in all cases point to the existence of animals, but to 
the presence of large fish. 

Following, then, closely the advance of man, when his fishing 
implements are particularly considered, we are inclined to believe 
that he first used the spear for taking fish; next, the hook and line; 
and, lastly, the net. There might have been an intermediate stage 
between the spear and the hook, when the bow and arrow were 
used. 

Interesting as is the whole subject of primitive fishing, we are, 
however, to occupy ourselves principally with the form of the primi- 
tive fish-hook. To-day there are some careful archeologists who are 
not willing to accept that particular form which is presented below. 
I believe, from the many reasons which can be advanced, that this 
simple form was the first device used by man in taking fish with a 
line. The argument I shall use is in some respects a novel one. 

These illustrations, exactly copied as to size, represent a small 


340 The Primitive Fish -Ffook. 


piece of dark, polished stone. It was found in the valley of the 
Somme, in France, and was dug out of a peat-bed twenty-two feet 
below the surface. The age of this peat-bed has been variously 
estimated. M. Boucher de Perthes thought 
that thirty thousand years must have elapsed 
since the lowest layer of peat was formed. 
The late Sir Charles Lyell and Sir John 
Lubbock, without too strict an adherence to 
STONE FISH-GORGE, FROMTHE Gate, believed! that this peat-bed) represenmmea 
VALLEY OF THE SOMME. 


(NEW yorK museum or » in its formation ‘that vast lapse of time 
NATURAI HISTORY.) 


which began with the commencement of the 
Neolithic period.” Later authorities deem it not older than seven 
thousand years B. c. 

Wonderful changes have come to pass since this bit of polished 
stone was lost in what must have been a lake. Examining this piece 
of worked stone, which once belonged to a prehistoric man living in 
that valley, we find it fairly well polished, though the action of count- 
less years has slightly ‘ weathered” or disintegrated its once smooth 
surface. In the center, a groove has been cut, and the ends of the 
stone rise slightly from the middle. It is rather crescent-shaped. It 
must have been tied to a line, and this stone gorge was covered with 
a bait; the fish swallowed it, and, the gorge coming crosswise with 
the gullet, the fish was captured. 

The evolution of any present form of implement from an older 
one is often more cleverly specious than logically conclusive; never- 
theless, I believe that, in this case, starting with the crude fish-gorge, 
I can show, step by step, the complete sequence of the fish-hook, until 
it ends with the perfected hook of to-day. It can be insisted upon even 
that there is persistence of form in the descendants of this fish-gorge, 
for, as Professor Mitchell writes in his “‘ Past in the Present,” “an old 
art may long refuse to disappear wholly, even in the midst of con- 
ditions which seem to be necessarily fatal to its continued existence.” 

In the Swiss lakes are found the remains of the Lacustrine dwell- 
ers. Among the many implements discovered are fish-gorges made 
of bronze wire. When these forms are studied, the fact must be 
recognized at once that they follow, in shape and principle of construc- 
tion, the stone gorges of the Neolithic period. Now, it is perfectly well 
known that the early bronze-worker invariably followed the stone 


The Primitive Fish -Hook. 341 


patterns. The Lacustrine gorges have had 


the name of érzcole given them. This is a 
BRICOLE, FRoM THE LAKE or faithful copy of a bronze bricole found in 
cor kaa the Lake of Neufchatel. It is made of 
bronze wire, and is bent in the simplest way, with an open curve 
allowing the line to be fastened to it. The ends of the gorge are 
very slightly bent, but they were probably sharpened when first made. 
This bricole varies from the rather straight 
one found in the Lake of Neufchatel, and be- 
longs to a later period. It is possible to imagine 


z iS BRICOLE OF A LATER 
that the lake-dweller, according to his pleasure, PERIOD. 


made one or the other of these two forms of fishing implements. As 
the double hook required more bronze, and bronze at first was very 
precious, he might not have had material enough in the early period 
to make it. This device is, however, a clever one, for a fisherman 
of to-day who had lost his hook might imitate it with a bit of wire. 
Had any member of the hungry Isthmus party before mentioned 
known of this form of Lacustrine hook, he might 
have twisted some part of a suspender buckle, pro- 
viding there were no thorny plants at hand, and 
have caught fish. 


When we compare the four forms, showing 


DOUBLE ke wt xeon Only their outlines, the evolution of the fish-hook 


oo Se cres a can be hetter appreciated) Returning to. the 


M. MAYER.) 


stone fish-gorge, the work of the Neolithic period, 
it is evident that the man of that time followed the 
shape handed down to him by his ancestors; and as ewer. 
this fashioned stone from the valley of the Somme is of —— 
a most remote period, how much older must have been ~QY 
the Paleolithic fish-gorge of rough stone. It might have 
been with a splinter of flint attached to some tendril, in SL 
lieu of a line, that the first fish was taken. SEEMS ORIC 
It is very curious to learn that in France a modi- 
fication of this gorge-hook is in use to-day for catching eels. A 
needle is sharpened at its eye-end, a slight groove is made in the 
middle of it, and around this some shreds of flax are attached. 
A worm is spitted, a little of the line being covered with the 
bait. 
22A 


342 The Primitive Fish-Ffook. 


Not eels alone are taken with this needle, for M. 
de la Blanchere informs us that many kinds of fish are 
caught with it in France. 

Any doubts as to the use of the Neolithic form of 
fish-gorge must be removed when it can be insisted 
upon that precisely this form of implement was in use 
by our Indians not more than forty years ago. In 
1878, when studying this question of the primitive 
hook, I was fortunate enough to receive direct testi- 
mony on the subject. My informant, who in his 
younger days had lived among the Indians at the 
head-waters of Lake Superior, said that in 1846 the 
Indians used a gorge made of bone to catch their fish. 
My authority, who had never seen a prehistoric fish- 
gorge, save the drawing of one, said that the Indian 
form was precisely like the early shape, and that the Chippewas 
fished some with the hook of civilization, others with bone gorges 


SHARPENED NEE- 
DLE USED FOR 
CATCHING FISH 
IN FRANCE. 


of a primitive period. 

In tracing the history of the fish-hook, it should be borne in mind 
that an overlapping of periods must have taken place. By this is 
meant, that at one and the same time an individual employed tools 
or weapons of various periods. To-day, the Western hunter lights 
his fire with a match. This splinter of wood, tipped with phospho- 
rus, the chlorates, sulphur, or paraffine, represents the progress made 
in chemistry from the time of the alchemists. But this trapper is 
sure to have stowed away in his pouch, ready for an emergency, his 
flint and steel. The Esquimau, the Alaskan, shoots his seal with an 
American repeating rifle, and, in lieu of a knife, flays the creature 
with a flint splinter. The net of the Norseman is to-day sunk with 
stones or buoyed with wood,—certainly the same devices as were 
used by the earliest Scandinavian,—while the net, so far as the 
making of the thread goes, is due to the best modern mechanical 
appliances. Survival of forms require some consideration apart from 
that of material, the first having much the stronger reasons for per- 
sistence. It is, then, very curious to note that hooks not made of 
iron and steel, but of bronze, or alloys of copper, are still in use on the 
coast of Finland, as I have quite recently obtained brass hooks from 
Northern Europe such as are commonly in use by fishermen there. 


The Pnmitive Fish-Flook. 343 


The origin of the double hook having been, I believe, satisfac- 
torily explained, to make the barb on it was readily suggested to 
primitive man, as he had used the same device on fish-spears and 
harpoons. 

This double-barbed hook from the Swiss lakes 
is quite common. Then, from the double to the 
single hook the transition was rapid. Single 
bronze hooks of the Lacustrine period sometimes 


have no barb. Such differences as exist are due 
to the various methods of attaching the line. DOUBLE HOOK, BARBED. 
FROM SWISS LAKES. 

In Professor A. M. Mayer’s collection there 
is a Lacustrine bronze hook, the shank of which is bent over 
parallel with the stem of the hook. This hook is a large one, 
and must have been used for big fish—probably the trout of the 
Swiss lakes. 

Hooks made of stone are exceedingly rare, and though it is 
barely possible that they might have been used for fish, I think this 
has not been conclusively shown. Wilson gives, in his work, draw- 
ings of two stone hooks which were found in Scandinavia. Though 
the theory that these stone objects were fashioned for fishing is sup- 
ported by so good an authority as Mr. Charles Rau, the archeolo- 
gist of the United States National Museum at Wash- 
ington, it does not seem to me possible that these 
hooks could have been made for fishing. Such forms, 
from the nature of the material, would have been 
exceedingly difficult to fashion, and, even if made, 
would have presented few advantages over the prim- 


itive gorge. 

This, however, must be borne in mind: in catch- 
ing fish, primitive man could have had no inkling 
of the present curved form of fish-hook, which, with 
its barb, secures the fish by penetration. A large 
proportion of sea-fish, and many _ river- 
fish, swallow the hook, and are caught, 
not by the hook entering the jaws of the 
fish, but because it is fastened in their 
stomachs. In the Gloucester fisherman’s 


BRONZE FISH-HOOKS. (FROM THE ° 
COLLECTION oF ror. A.M. MayeR.) language of to-day, a fish so captured is 


344 The Primitive Fish-Hook. 


AN ALASKAN FISH-HOOK. 


called ‘‘ poke-hooked”; and accordingly, when the representative 
of the Neolithic period fished in that lake in the valley of the 
Somme, all the fish he took must have been poke-hooked. A bone 
hook, excellent in form, has been found near the remains of a 
huge species of pike (/s0x). Hooks made of the tusks of the 
wild boar have also been discovered with Lacustrine remains. 

In commenting on the large size of the bone hook figured in 
Wilson’s work, its proximity to the remains of large fish was noticed. 
When the endless varieties of hooks belonging to savage races are 
subjects of discussion, the kind of fish they serve for catching should 
always be cited. In the examples of hooks which illustrate works 
of travel, a good many errors arise from the simple fact that the 
writers are not fishermen. Although the outline of a hook be accu- 
rately given, the method of securing it to the line is often incorrectly 
drawn. 

In the engraving at the top of this page, an Alaskan halibut- 
hook is represented. The form is a common one, and is used by all 
the savage races of the Pacific; but the main interest lay in the 
manner of tying the line to this hook. Since the fish to be caught 
was the halibut, the form was the best adapted to the taking of the 
Flippoglossus Americanus ; but had the line been attached in any 
other way than exactly as represented, this big fish could hardly 
have been caught with such a hook. 

In the drawing, the halibut-hook hangs but slightly inclining 
toward the sea-bottom, the weight of the bait having a tendency to 
lower it. In this position it can be readily taken by the fish; but 


The Primitive Fish-Flook. 345 


? 


Sula 


ALASKAN HALIBUT-HOOK, (FROM THE COLLECTION OF PROF. A. M. MAYER.) 


should it be suspended in a different way, it must be at once seen 
how difficult it would be for the fish to swallow it. In this Alaskan 
hook must be recognized the very first idea of what we call to-day 
the center-draught hook. <A drawing is also given of a steel hook 
of a peculiar form coming from Northern Russia. The resemblance 
between the Alaskan and this Russian hook is at first apparently 
slight, but they both are, nevertheless, constructed on the same 
principle. When this Russian hook is seized by the fish, and force 
is applied to the line by the fisherman, the point of the barb and the 
line are almost in one and the same direction. Almost the same may 
be said of the Alaskan hook. Desirous of testing the capabilities of 
this hook, | had a gross made after the Russian model, and sent 


ALASKAN HALIBUT-HOOK. 


346 The Primitive fish-FHook. 


them to Captain J. W. Collins, of the United States Fish Commission, 
stationed at Gloucester, requesting him to distribute them among the 
fishermen. While writing this article, I am in receipt of a letter from 
Captain Collins, informing me that these hooks are excellent, the 
captains of fishing-smacks reporting that a great many deep-sea fish 
were taken with them. 


RUSSIAN FISH-HOOK,. 


A study of these hooks—the Alaskan and Russian—with refer- 
ence to the method of attaching the line, explains, I think, the 
peculiarity of certain shell-hooks of great antiquity found in Calli- 
fornia which have puzzled archeologists. These hooks, the originals 
of which are to be found in the National Museum at Washington, 
are shown in the following engravings. The notch cut in one of 
the hooks seems to show that the line was attached at that place. 
Hang the hooks in any other position and they would catch no fish, 
for one could hardly suppose that the blunt barb could penetrate 
the mouth of the fish. 

If there be some doubt entertained by American archeologists 
as to the use of these shell-hooks, there can be none in regard to 
their having barbs. The barbs turn outward, in which respect 
they differ from all the primitive European hooks I have seen. 
In confirmation of the idea advanced as to the proper place of 
attaching the line, Professors C. C. Abbott and F. W. Putnam, in 
a chapter entitled “Implements and Weapons made of Bone and 
Wood,” in the United States Geographical Survey, west of the hun- 


The Primitive Fish- Hook. 347 


THE BEGINNING OF A SHELL HOOK. (IN THE COLLECTION OF DR. WEST.) 


dredth meridian, write, referring to these hooks: ‘These hooks are 
flattened and are longer than wide. * * * The barbs in these 
specimens are judged by fishermen of to-day to be on the wrong 
side of a good fish-hook, and the point is too near the shank. By 
having the line so fastened that the point of tension is at the notch 
at the base of the shank, instead of at the extreme end of the stem, 
the defect of the design of the hook would be somewhat remedied, 
as the barb would be forced down, so that it might possibly catch 
itself in the lower jaw of the fish that had taken the hook.” The 
summing up of this is, I think, that in an imperfect way the maker 
of this Santa Barbara hook had some idea of the efficiency of a 
center-draught hook. As the first step in manufacturing this hook, 
a hole was drilled in the shell, and the hook finished up afterward by 
rounding the outside. Dr. West, of Brooklyn, has a series of such 
primitive work in his collection. 


SHELL HOOK, (NATIONAL MUSEUM, W ASHINGTON.) 


348 The Primitive Fish-Hook. 


SHELL HOOK. (NATIONAL MUSEUM, WASHINGTON.) 


To advance the idea that in all cases hooks have been improved 
by slightly increased culture among semi-civilized races would be 
a source of error. It is quite possible that in many instances there 
has been retrogression from the better forms of fishing implements 
once in use. This relapse might have been brought about, not so 
much by a decrease of intelligence, as changes due to fortuitous 
causes. A fishing race might have been driven away from a shore 
or a river-bank and replaced by an inland people. 

Some primitive races still use a hook made from a thorn, and in 
this practice we find to-day a most wonderful survival. On the coast 
of France, hooks made of thorns are still used to catch fish, the fish- 
ermen representing that they possess the great advantage of costing 
nothing and of not fouling on the sea-bottom. The Piutes take the 


SHELL HOOK FROM SANTA BARBARA, (NATIONAL MUSEUM, WASHINGTON.) 


The Primitive Fish-Flook. 349 
spine of a cactus, bending it to suit their purpose, and very simple 
barbless hooks of this kind may be seen in the collections of the 
National Museum at Washington. 

Undoubtedly, in primitive times, hooks of a compound character 
were used. Just as men tipped a deer’s antler with a flint, they 
combined more than one material in the making of their hooks, lash- 


SHELL HOOK FROM SANTA BARBARA (NATIONAL MUSEUM, BOSTON.) 


ing together a shank of bone or wood with a bronze barb. It would 
be almost impossible in a single article to follow all the varieties 
of hooks used and the ingenuity displayed in their manufacture. 
Occasionally, a savage will construct a lure for fish which rivals the 
daintiest fly ever made by the most fastidious of anglers. In Pro- 
fessor Mayer's collection there is an exceedingly clever hook, coming 
from the North-western coast, which shows very fine lapidary work. 
A small red quartoze pebble of great hardness has been rounded, 
polished, and joined to a piece of bone. The piece is small, not 
more than an inch and three-quarters in length, and might weigh an 
ounce and a half. In the shank of bone a small hook is hidden. — It 
somewhat imitates a shrimp. The parts are joined together by lash- 
ings of tendon, and these are laid in grooves cut into the stone. It 
must have taken much toil to perfect this clever artificial bait, and, 
as it is to-day, it might be used with success by a clever striped-bass 
fisherman at Newport. 

In this necessarily brief study of primitive fishing, I have 
endeavored to show the genesis of the fish-hook, from the stone 
gorge to the more perfected implement of to-day. Simple as 


350 The Primitive Fish-FHook. 


it may seem, it is a subject on which a good 
deal of research is still requisite. ‘‘It is not 
an acquaintance with a single series of things 
which can throw light on any subject, but a 
thorough comprehension of the whole of them.” 
If in the Swiss lakes there are found bronze 
hooks of a very large size, out of proportion 
to the fish which swim there to-day, it is but 
just to suppose that, many thousands of years 
ago, long before history had its dawn, the 
aquatic fauna were then of greater bulk than 
in 1883. Considerations on the primitive form 
of the fish-hook must even comprehend exam- 
ination of prior geological conditions, differences 
of land and water, or such geographical changes 


rs ARTIFICIAL STONE SHRIMP. 
as may have taken place. Then ichthyology (FROM THE COLLECTION 


OF PROF. A. M. MAYER.) 
becomes an important factor, for by the char- 
acter of the hook, the kind of fish taken, in some instances, may be 
understood. We are fast coming to this conclusion: that, putting 
aside what can only be the merest speculations as to the condition 
of man when he is said to have first diverged from the brute, he 
was soon endowed with a wonderful degree of intelligence. And, 
if | am not mistaken, primitive man did not confine himself in his 
fishing to the rivers and lakes alone, but went out boldly. to sea 
after the cod. 


PeoOwl-hisHiINnG IN THe RANGELEY LAKES. 


/ 


By EDWARD SEYMOUR. 


OOSELUCMAGUNTIC, Molechunkemunk, Welokeneba- 
cook, Cupsuptuc, and Rangeley are the names carried by 
the individual members of a group of lakes which are yet 

destined to be as familiar in the literature of the American sports- 
man as the salmon rivers of Canada or the trout streams of the 
Adirondacks. These lakes lie in the western part of Maine, near 
the New Hampshire boundary line. The White Mountains are 
some thirty miles distant, a little to the west of south, and Moose- 
head Lake is about sixty or seventy miles to the north-east. It 
may be absolute incredulity as to the fish stories which are told 
of these lakes,—it is hard for one who has not seen a speckled 
trout weighing ten, eight, or even six pounds to have faith in the 
existence of a fish of this size and species,—or it may be de- 
spair of defining his destination when the sportsman reads the unpro- 
nounceable names which these lakes bear; but whatever the cause, 
the number of visitors to this region has thus far been comparatively 
small. Thoreau, to be sure, described it in a general way years ago, 
and so did Theodore Winthrop; but their accounts made it appear 
like a terra cncognita, full of difficulties when it was once reached. 
Maine is so profusely dotted over with lakes as to suggest the 
thought that the State has not yet been well drained, or that a slight 
tilting of the continent might depress the general level of this region 
so as to submerge it in the Atlantic. But the fact is that the lakes 
which have just been named are between fourteen and fifteen hun- 
dred feet above the sea-level, and are embosomed in mountains, 
some of which reach a height of two, three, and even four thousand 


352 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


feet. Approaching from the south-east by way of Farmington and 
Phillips, you first strike Rangeley Lake at its extreme eastern end; 
and here the entire group is generally spoken of as the Rangeley 
Lakes. Coming from the other direction, by way of Andover, 
Welokenebacook is first reached; and in this region one hears 
the group spoken of as the Richardson Lakes, although this name is 
properly applicable only to Welokenebacook and Molechunkemunk. 

Leaving Portland a little after one o'clock, you arrive at Farming- 
ton about six. A supper at the Forest House fortifies you for an eight- 
een-mile ride to Phillips; and this is materially shortened by “ Uncle 
John’s” famous “bear story” and other characteristic narratives. 
Stopping overnight, you take an early start the next morning, and 
after a stage ride of twenty miles reach Kimball’s Hotel, at the head 
of Rangeley Lake, by noon. Taking dinner here, and after it one of 
the little steamers which have recently invaded the sanctity of these 
lakes, you are in an hour and a half landed at the foot of Rangeley. 

In comparison with the unpronounceable Indian names which the 
contiguous lakes bear, that of Rangeley appears singularly com- 


MAP 
of the 

LAKES and HEAD WATERS 
of the 


ANUROSCOGGIN § KENNEGEG 
RIVERS. 


J 


7 


New HAMPSHIBE. 
ve 


é 
“o 


Trout-fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 353 


{ H 
Hi tn 


HIC JACET. 


monplace and civilized, but formerly it was quite as well off as its 
neighbors. Originally, it was known as Oquossoc Lake, but about 
fifty years ago a wealthy English squire, Rangeley by name, 
having wearied of the civilized tameness of his Virginia estate, 
decided to settle in this northern wilderness. He cleared a broad 
traet at the outlet of Rangeley Lake, built a dam across the stream, 
erected extensive saw and grist mills, and expended large sums of 
money in other improvements. His supplies of all kinds were trans- 
ported from Phillips or Farmington, a distance of thirty to fifty miles, 
and he was compelled to haul his lumber a hundred miles to find a 
market. For twenty years Squire Rangeley lived here, pushing his 
business enterprises with great energy and more or less success, and 
enjoying the field sports, of which he was passionately fond. Moose, 
caribou, deer, bears, and wolves were his constant neighbors; ducks, 
geese, partridge, and smaller game were so abundant that shooting 
them could hardly be called sport; and brook-trout weighing from six 
to nine pounds could be taken by the score from the stream which ran 
past his front door. When Squire Rangeley gave up the enterprise 
which he had pushed for a time with so much energy, his mills and 
buildings were all abandoned, and the clearings which he had made 
were rapidly seeded down by the hand of nature; pines, spruces, juni- 
per, and fir springing up everywhere in place of the ancient monarchs 
of the primeval forest which he had cleared away at the cost of so 


45) 


354 Lrout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


much labor. Twenty years ago, the frame and roof of the massive 
old mill were still standing, but in 1866 these were pulled down, and 
the solid pine timbers of the structure were incorporated in the new 
dam which was then built for the purpose of floating logs through the 
outlet in the early spring. Of the old homestead, which occupied a 
commanding site on a beautiful knoll, only the decayed foundation tim- 
bers remain. Enough of the ‘‘potash” building still stands to give a 
passable shelter to the benighted angler. With these exceptions, 
Squire Rangeley’s “improvements” have all disappeared. The 
township which he once owned, however, still bears his name. 
Nearly all of the lake lies within its limits. The town of Rangeley 
—or the “city,” as the natives call it—is half a mile back from the 
extreme eastern end of the lake. Most of the male inhabitants of 
the village devote themselves to ‘‘guiding” throughout the entire 
fishing season, and spruce-gum in its native state is one of its chief 
exports. Apart from these ‘industries,” there is little that is note- 
worthy about the town, and the sportsman misses nothing which he 
has cause to regret in the fact that his route does not take him to 
thes “citys 

Leaving the steamer ‘“ Molly-chunk-e-munk,’”—the name of which 
has thus gallantly been metamorphosed and Anglicized from the 
Indian appellation of Lake Mole-chunk-e-munk,—members of the 
Oquossoe Angling Association and visitors to their camp crossed a 
two-mile carry from the foot of Rangeley Lake to the junction of 
Kennebago Stream with Rangeley Stream, where is Camp Kenne- 
bago. A wagon took the baggage, while the sportsmen themselves 
walked across through an excellent wood road, which, however, was 
marshy enough in spots to make very careful stepping or very thick 
boots indispensable. Indian Rock—a locality famous even in the 
aboriginal annals of Maine, as its name indicates—is on the left bank 
of the stream, directly facing Camp Kennebago. Tradition relates 
that this spot was a favorite haunt of the Indian long before the 
white man ventured so far into the forest, and that as late as 1855 
they made visits here from Canada each season. 

The lakes of the Rangeley group are so located with respect to 
one another that it is extremely difficult for the visitor to get a clear 
idea of their relative positions. Nothing does this so effectively as 
an ascent of Bald Mountain, which is one of the most prominent 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 355 


THE JUNCTION OF RANGELEY AND KENNEBAGO. 


objects in this whole landscape, since it rises seventeen hundred feet 
above the level of the lake. The ascent may be made with compara- 
tive ease by any one at all accustomed to mountain climbing, as 
there are several paths to the summit. Bald Mountain is in reality a 
peninsula. Its base is washed by Rangeley Lake, Rangeley Stream, 
Cupsuptuc Lake, and Mooselucmaguntic. A narrow strip of land 
on the south connects it with the main-land. Once on the summit, 
looking eastward, you see the Rangeley, its graceful form deeply 
outlined and every indentation plainly marked. Old Saddleback, 
rock-ribbed and bare, and rising four thousand feet, faces you. Still 
further east are the twin Bigelows, Mount Abraham, and the East 
and West Kennebago Mountains. That thread of silver in the 
immediate foreground is the wide and rapid Rangeley outlet, which 
falls twenty-five feet in the two miles ‘intervening between the point 
where it leaves the lake and its junction with the calmer and deeper 
waters of the Kennebago. At this point can be clearly distinguished 
the grounds and buildings of Camp Kennebago, with the stars and 
stripes waving from the tall flag-staff. Something more than words 
is necessary to do full justice to the exquisitely varied panorama 
of lake and mountain, the beauty of which could be hardly more 
than indicated by the catalogue of names necessary to identify them. 
Few finer views can be found in the English lakes, among the 


Trossachs, or even in Switzerland, than this from the summit of 
Bald Mountain. 


356 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


CAMP KENNEBAGO, 


Before describing Camp Kennebago in detail, it may be as well 
to give in brief a sketch of the history of the Oquossoc Angling 
Association, of which organization this camp is the head-quarters. 
So long as thirty years ago, a sportsman now and then worked 
his way through the wilderness to these lakes, but it is only within 
the last twenty years that the Rangeley, Kennebago, and Cupsup- 
tuc Lakes, with the upper end of Mooselucmaguntic, have become at 
all well known to anglers. The Richardson Lakes—Welokeneba- 
cook and Molechunkemunk, with Umbagog, forming the lower lakes 
in the great chain whence the Androscoggin River derives its 
mighty power—have for the’ last thirty or forty years been fre- 
quented by a score or more of Boston and New York gentlemen. 
These sportsmen were invariably found at “ Rich’s,” ‘“‘ Middle Dam,” 
Mosquito Brook, or the ‘“ Upper Dam.” Hundreds of spotted 
beauties, weighing from two to eight pounds, were captured by 
these anglers year after year, but they wisely kept their own coun- 
sel, and if an item occasionally found its way into the New York or 
Boston papers chronicling the arrival of a six or eight pound speckled 
trout, those who claimed to be best informed dismissed the paragraph 
with a sneer at the ignorance of editors who did not know the differ- 
ence between brook-trout and “lakers.” In 1860, Henry O. Stanley, 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 357 


of Dixfield, now one of the efficient commissioners of fisheries for 
the State of Maine, organized an expedition to penetrate to the lakes 
from the upper end. Twenty years before, Mr. Stanley's father had 
made the survey of much of the lake country, and, discovering the 
extraordinary size of the trout, had frequently repeated his visits. 


UPPER DAM. 


The son now and then accompanied his father on these trips, and 
with such a preceptor in the gentle art, and with such opportunties 
for its practice, it is not strange that Mr. Stanley should have 
achieved the distinction of being the champion fly-fisher of the world. 
His record of brook-trout weighing from three to nine and a half 
pounds, all taken with the fly, reaches many hundred. The party 
which Mr. Stanley headed on the occasion alluded to made its way 
to the lake, vza Dixfield, Carthage, Weld, Phillips, and Madrid, 
striking first the upper end of Rangeley. One of its members, Mr. 
George Shepard Page, of New York City, was so delighted with 
his experience upon this trip that in 1863 he made a second journey 
by the same route. He returned from this trip, bringing with him 
eight brook-trout weighing respectively 838, 8%, 74, 6%, 6, 5%, 
5, 5—total, 517 lbs., or an average of nearly 6% lbs. each. William 
Cullen Bryant, Henry J. Raymond, and George Wilkes were pre- 
23A 


358 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


sented with the three largest, and made acknowledgments duly in the 
“Evening Post,” the ‘‘ New York Times,” and the “Spirit of the Times.” 
Then there broke out an excitement among anglers altogether with- 
out precedent. Scores of letters were sent to the papers which had 
presumed to call these brook-troutt—some of them interrogative, 
others denunciatory, others theoretical, and others flatly contradict- 
ory. The Adirondacks had never yielded a brook-trout which 
weighed more than five pounds, and that, therefore, must be the 
standard of brook-trout the world over. But Mr. Page had foreseen 
the violent skepticism which was sure to manifest itself, and had sent 
a seven-pounder to Professor Agassiz, who speedily replied that 
these monster trout were genuine specimens of the speckled or brook 
trout family, and that they were only found in large numbers in the 
lakes and streams at the head waters of the Androscoggin River, in 
North-western Maine. In 1864, several New York gentlemen 
visited Rangeley, among the number Messrs. Lewis B. Reed, R. G. 
Allerton, and L. T. Lazell. Upon their return, they fully corrob- 
orated the report made by Mr. Page the year previous, and 
brought back with them several trout which weighed from three 
to eight pounds. In 1867, Mr. Page again visited Rangeley in 
company with Mr. Stanley, and ten days’ fishing by these two 
gentlemen and Mr. Fields, of Gorham, N. H., showed these 
extraordinary results: 


No. of Weight of Total weight. No. of Weight of Total weight. 
Trout each in Ibs. Ibs. Trout each in lbs. Ibs. 
Bt: Bl ks 6 2 BSA.) El > aoe en 
ite 2Yy. 2 is 6 30 
ae 2% . 7% 2 6% 12% 
2. 234 . 5% I O27, ee ae 6% 
Sie eae 15 I 7 6 Oa ee 
er 3Y . 161% 3 ie il Gin BUSA 
Bar 3 . 104 Bia. Fe) 3, oe LT 
/ VE = 
BA 334 1% 2 Heme 5 ER 
I 4 4 2 8) on ce oe) 
4 
2 4% 9 I SY. Fo ony 
I 434 434 I SIs 4.) Le 
3 5 15 I SeVilgeige saris. 231 - TSaA 
vA 4 / 
I 5M BA) 9 2 9/2. = 2 eye 
REE SS Oe KE RRR oe Dowty s,s oo cLO! (hae hae TO 


Average, nearly 5 lbs. 59 293 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 359 


THE INTERIOR OF THE CAMP. 


In 1868, the number of anglers visiting the lakes had so rapidly 
increased that it was decided to organize an association for the pur- 
pose of leasing ground, erecting buildings, and purchasing boats. 
Messrs. Bowles, of Springfield, Mass., Lazell and Reed, of Brooklyn, 
N. Y., George Shepard Page and R. G. Allerton, of New York, 
Hon. W. P. Frye, of Lewiston, Me., W. S. Badger, of Augusta, Me., 
and T. L. Page, of New Orleans, who were all in adjacent camps 
at the outlet of Rangeley Lake, formally organized the Oquossoc 
Angling Association by the election of Mr. G. S. Page as president 
and Mr. L. B. Reed, secretary. In the year following (1869), the 
association purchased the buildings, improvements, and_ boats 
belonging to C. T. Richardson at the junction of the Rangeley 
and Kennebago, and immediately began the erection of Camp 
Kennebago. Meantime, the membership rapidly increased, and in 
1870, the association was formally incorporated under the laws 
of the State of Maine. The membership of the association is 
limited to seventy-five. Shares are $200 each, and the capital 
stock is $10,700, which is invested in camp buildings, furniture, 


360 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


boats, etc., etc. The annual dues are $25. The camp charges 
are $2 per day for board, $1 for board of guide, and fifty cents 
per day for use of boats. The best guides receive $2 per day, 
making the total cost per day while in camp $5.50, unless two 
persons choose to fish from the same boat, when, of course, the 


expense of guide, board for guide, and hire of boat may be 


5 

shared. The fishing season extends from about May 25 to Octo- 
ber 1, when the law prohibits the capture of trout save by written 
permission of the fish commissioner for scientific purposes. During 
the first month and the last three weeks of the fishing season, guests 
are only admitted upon the invitation of members, since the camp 
accommodations are then likely to be overtaxed ; but between June 
20 and September 10 the camp is open to all visitors upon the 
same terms as to members. Ladies and children are also admitted 
between the dates named. A roomy building with separate apart- 
ments is specially reserved for them, and as two or three female 
servants are constantly employed in the camp, they are sure to be 
quite as comfortable as in ordinary country hotels. 

There are some peculiar features in the arrangement of the camp 
buildings which will be of interest to those who are not familiar with 
such structures. The main camp is a substantial board structure, 
100 feet long by 30 feet wide. At its extreme westerly end is a well- 
equipped kitchen, and adjoining it is a dining-room. Then comes 
the main apartment, which is occupied as a sleeping and sitting room. 
This room takes the full width of the main building (30 feet), is about 
60 feet in length, and from the floor to the gable is 30 feet in the 
clear, giving it a most spacious appearance and securing thorough 
ventilation. There are no partitions in this apartment, but twenty- 
five or thirty beds are ranged along its sides, and at its extreme 
easterly end is a large open fire-place, around which the weary 
anglers gather after their day’s sport, and entertain each other with 
the rehearsal of their experiences and exploits. As one huge log 
after another blazes up,—for the nights are seldom so warm that a 
fire is oppressive,— story after story passes around. It rarely hap- 
pens that some one of the circle has not captured a six or eight 
pound trout during the day, and the one who has been so fortunate is, 
of course, the hero of the hour. With what kind of fly the fish was 
captured, how long it took to land him, the narrow escape which the 


TELLING FISH-STORIES. 


lucky angler had from losing his prize just as the guide was netting 
him, are points which must be rehearsed over and over again. Could 
one-tenth of the fish-stories which have thus been rehearsed around 
this famous old fire-place in Camp Kennebago be put on record they 
would make a book which would throw far into the shade any volume 
of piscatorial experience that has ever yet seen the light. Before 
eleven o'clock, the weary anglers are all in their beds, and the camp 
sinks into a silence which is undisturbed save by some obstreperous 
snorer, at least until daylight the next morning, when some fisher- 
man who has had poor luck the previous day starts out with a des- 
perate determination to retrieve his fortunes by testing the virtue of 
early fishing, 

A tour around the upper end of Lake Mooselucmaguntic discovers 
a number of snugly constructed buildings, some owned by private 
parties and others by members of the Angling Association, who spend 
several weeks consecutively at the lake during the fishing season. 


362 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


ALLERTON LODGE. 


Prominent among the latter are those of Hon. W. P. Frye at the 
Narrows, and that of R. G. Allerton at Bugle Cove, just at the foot 
of Bald Mountain. Allerton Lodge is a thoroughly built house, fully 
equipped with all the comforts of civilization. It is located upon a 
rocky bluff twenty feet or more above the level of the lake, and com- 
mands a magnificent view. Since Bugle Cove is one of the best 
fishing-grounds on the lake, its proprietor, who is one of the most 
enthusiastic and persevering of anglers, never fails to make up such a 
score during his visits in June as to excite the emulation of all other 
visitors during the rest of the season. 

But it need not be imagined that it is only the practiced anglers 
who are successful in the Rangeley Lakes. There is in Camp Ken- 
nebago a record-book in which each visitor is expected to set down 
his score when he finishes his stay. This exhibits some catches 
nearly as remarkable as that which has been set down before. In 
1869, eleven members of the association in six days’ fishing, besides 
a large number of smaller fish, captured thirty trout weighing as fol- 
lows: three of 4 Ibs. each; one 4% lbs.; two 434 lbs. each; three 
5 lbs. each; one 5% Ibs.; four 5% lbs. each; two 6 lbs. each; two 
6% lbs. each; two 634 Ibs. each; two 7 lbs. each; one 7% lbs.; one 
7% \bs.; three 8 Ibs. each; one 8% lbs.; one 9g lbs. ;—total, 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 363 


18134 lbs., averaging over 6 lbs. each. Then the ladies find the 
locality a wonderful one for great ‘“‘catches”—of trout. Mrs. Theo- 
dore Page has taken several weighing between 6 and 9g lbs. each, and 
even the young folks are fortunate. Masters Harry and Allie Page, 
aged respectively 5% and 3% years, it appears from this record, 
during one visit caught 57 trout weighing 37 lbs. Ten averaged 
1 lb. each, and one weighed two lbs. Lest these large catches 
should provoke remonstrance against such wholesale slaughter of this 
beautiful fish, it should be stated that it is the almost invariable rule 
to return to the water all uninjured trout weighing less than half a 
pound. Those hooked so deeply that they cannot live are kept for 
consumption at the camp. The larger fish, as soon as caught, are 
deposited in the car which each boat always has with it. Upon the 
return to camp at night, the living trout are carefully transferred to a 
larger car,—which in this case is the name given to an ordinary dry- 
goods box with slats on the bottom and sides, admitting free pas- 
sage through of the water,—and at the end of his stay each angler, 
if he desires to take a box of trout home with him, selects the largest 
and releases all the others, which speedily find their way to the deep 
waters of the lake again. Thus the actual destruction of fish is by 
no means so extensive as it would at first appear that it might be. 

In general, the early spring fishing and the late fall fishing are 
decidedly the best and most enjoyable. The pestiferous black flies 
do not appear until June 10, but their attentions can be warded off 
by a liberal application to all exposed parts of the neck, face, and 
hands of a mixture of tar and sweet oil in equal parts. Oil of penny- 
royal, in sufficient quantity to make its odor plainly perceptible, is 
thought by many to render this preparation more effective. By 
September, with exemplary regularity, the black flies disappear, and 
with them goes the only hinderance to complete enjoyment of out- 
door life. 

As regards methods of fishing, it need only be said that the 
high-toned angler will not tempt his intended victim with anything 
but a fly at any season. The best fly fishing is to be had in the 
streams in the spring and in the lake in the fall. Those who go to 
the lakes in the spring and early summer determined to catch the 
biggest fish at all hazards must seek them with live minnows for 
bait, by still fishing, or by trolling in deep water. In either case, the 


364 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


law rules out all gang-hooks. The “single baited hook” only is 
permitted, and any one infringing upon this wise restriction exposes 
himself to severe penalties. A larger hook, with a heavier leader 
than is used in ordinary brook-trout fishing, is called for in these 
waters; but upon such points and with reference to the varieties of 
flies which are best for the purpose, advice may be had at any of the 
fishing-tackle stores. In general, however, give preference in making 
your selection to the more subdued colors, and do not permit your- 
self to be stocked up with an immense variety. Five or six kinds, 
well selected, will be more than enough to give the fish ample range 


for choice. 


AN EXPERIMENT IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 


As I| have already stated, these big trout are caught either in the 
lake or in the streams which feed it, according to the season; and 
each kind of fishing has its peculiar incidents and surprises. Both 
Kennebago and Rangeley streams are too deep and swift to be 
waded in the orthodox style, although at certain seasons they are 
so shallow in places as to make their navigation even by boats of 
the lightest draft an undertaking of no little difficulty. Rangeley 
Stream, between the famous dam at the outlet of Rangeley Lake 
and Indian Rock, a distance of perhaps a mile and a_ half, 
abounds in pools which the big trout love to frequent. It is not 
unusual for the more enterprising fishermen to work their way up 
Kennebago Stream four, five, or even six miles. This trip involves 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 365 


“STONY BATTER.” 


hard labor by the guide in poling or in pulling the boat over the fre- 
quent shallows, and great caution is necessary to guard against such 
a mishap as the pencil of that enthusiastic and scientific sportsman, 
Dr. F. N. Otis, has reproduced on the opposite page, where an unex- 
pected push by the guide’s pole or the sudden striking of the boat's 
bow upon the pebbly bottom sends the surprised fisherman, heels over 
head, into the bottom of his boat, while his leader and flies are sure 
to become securely hooked in the loftiest overhanging branch within 
reach. Still, the discomforts of these excursions up the Kennebago 
or Cupsuptuc streams are sure to be rewarded with some rare sport. 

Nor is the fishing in the open lake without its occasional sur- 
prises. I very well remember an incident which happened upon 
the occasion of my first visit to Camp Kennebago, when I was a 
tyro in trout-fishing, and had not been fully initiated in the use 
of the fly. My boat was at anchor some distance below “Stony 
Batter,” and with humiliation I confess that I was angling with a 
minnow. For a half hour or more there had been no sign of a 
trout in my vicinity, and I had carelessly laid my pole across the 
boat, with the butt under the thwart. Suddenly there was a 
“strike.” Before I could seize my pole, the trout had carried the 
line directly under the boat with such a rush as to snap the rod — 
which I ought to say, in justice to the professional makers, was a 
cheap store rod—into two or three pieces. The trout escaped, 
as he deserved to do, and for once I could not help confessing 
myself outgeneraled. This mishap, of course, put an end to my 
fishing for the day; but fortunately it occurred quite late in the 


366 Trout-fishing tn the Rangeley Lakes. 


afternoon, and thus left me at leisure to enjoy a scene which was 
in itself singularly beautiful, and which was an appropriate setting 
for a striking incident. As the sun was sinking behind the hills, 
close under which we were fishing, it threw their long shadows far 
out on the lake, while the waters on the eastern shore were still 
bright with the golden light of the gentle June evening. In the 
distance, we descried three specks upon the water, which gradually 
grew in size as they steadily approached us, until we made out 
three batteaux laden with the “ river-drivers,” who were returning 
from their perilous and tedious journey down the Androscoggin 
with the great log-rafts,—the results of the previous winter's lumber- 
ing. The first sound which disturbed the Sabbath-like stillness of 
the lake, as the batteaux came nearer, was the steady thump, thump, 
thump of the sweeps in the rowlocks. Then we heard the sound 
of voices, but at first too indistinctly to determine whether it was 
the echo of boisterous talk, or some river-driver’s song, with which 
the oarsmen were keeping time. But soon the sounds, as they 
became linked together, grew into that grand old tune, ‘‘ Corona- 
tion,” and the words, 


“ All hail the power of Jesus’ name!” 


came to us over the peaceful waters, sung with all the strength, 
steadiness, and fervor which might be expected in a congregation 
of religious worshipers. Nothing could have been in more perfect 
harmony with the scene, and yet nothing could have been a greater 
surprise than to hear this tune, and the words with which it is so 
inseparably connected, coming with such zest from the throats of 
men who have gained an undeserved reputation for roughness, not 
to say profanity, of speech. 

During the extremely warm weather, the trout naturally run 
deep in the lake, since theré only can they find the cold water in 
which they thrive; but even then the streams afford good sport ; 
so that the angler. cannot spend a week at the lake during the 
fishing season without certainty of getting better sport, and more 
of it, than can be found in any other resort in the country. An- 
other fact that adds greatly to the pleasure of fishing in the Range- 
ley Lakes is, that with the exception of the land-lecked salmon 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 367 


HEAD OF TROUT. 


lately introduced, they contain no other fish besides the trout and the 
smaller fish upon which he feeds. Of the latter, there are three 
varieties,—the chub, the sucker, and the minnow, or ‘ red-fin,” as 
they are locally termed. All these exist in countless numbers in 
the streams and at the outlets of these streams into the lake. There 
is still a fourth variety, called by the natives the ‘blue-back” 
trout, the Salmo Oguossa (so named because it is peculiar to 
these waters), which is also generally supposed to furnish food to 
the monarchs of the lake. They come in an immense army, 
actually filling the streams here and there with a dense, strug- 
gling mass, which the natives capture by the bushel and by the 
barrel in nets, buckets, and pails; even scooping them out by hand 
and ‘throwing them on the bank. ‘They are salted down and pre- 
served in the same way as mackerel are cured. These blue-back 
trout have never been found more than nine inches in length, nor 
less than six inches. In flavor, they are quite as rich and delicate 
when cooked as the brook-trout. After spawning, they return to the 
lake just as suddenly as they appeared; and, notwithstanding the 
numbers in which they are captured during their brief stay in the 
stream, they do not diminish in multitude year after year. It is 
inferred that their regular haunts must be in the deepest waters of 
the lake, since their capture by the enticements and appliances which 
prove irresistible to the speckled trout is almost unknown. 
Numerous experiments and continued observations, made under 
the auspices of some of the practical pisciculturists belonging to the 
association, have developed results full of interest and of much prac- 


368 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


tical value. For instance, in reply to queries as to the probable age 
of the mammoth trout found in the Rangeley Lakes, Professor 
Agassiz emphatically declared that ‘no man living knew whether 
these six and eight pounders were ten or two hundred years old.” 
To get some light upon this question, Mr. Page conceived an 
ingenious device, which he at once proceeded to put in execution. 
Platinum wire was obtained, cut into one and a half inch lengths, 
flattened at one end, and various numbers were stamped on the 
surface, from ™% to 4, also the numbers 70, 71, 72, to denote the 
year. As trout were captured they were weighed, one of these tags 
was passed through the skin just under the adipose fin and securely 
twisted, and then the fish was liberated. In the course of the two or 
three years named a large number of these trout were thus labeled. 
Of course, the chances that any of them would be caught seemed 
infinitesimally small, yet in 1873 one of them reported. In June of 
that year, Mr. Thomas Moran, the artist, captured a fine, vigorous 
trout weighing 2% lbs. Upon taking him from the landing-net, the 
platinum tag flashed in the sunlight. Upon examination, the mark, 
“wy, 
this particular fish had gained 1% lbs. in two years. 

The entire influence of the association has uniformly been thrown 
in favor of a rigorous enactment of the laws protecting the trout in 
the spawning season and regulating the mode of capture. More 
than this, it has taken the most active measures in the direction 
of increasing the supply of fish in the waters to which it has access. 
Land-locked salmon have been introduced (this is one of the very 
few species which co-exist with the trout), and a large number of 
the young of the sea salmon ( Sa/mo salar) have also been put into 
the lakes. Last season, several land-locked salmon two years of age, 
and weighing half a pound, were captured. This year those of this 
same growth will probably have reached a pound, and in the course 
of two or three years these fish, which some anglers regard as even 
more ‘‘gamey” than the trout, must become very abundant. 

Some of the earliest and most successful efforts in trout culture 
are connected with the annals of Rangeley. In October, 1867, Mr. 
Page transported two live trout—one a male weighing ten pounds, 
the other a female weighing eight and a half—from Rangeley to his 
home in Stanley, N. J., a distance of nearly five hundred miles. An 


71,” was discovered, thus establishing the curious fact that 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 369 


THE DAM ON RANGELEY STREAM. 


oblong box of forty gallons’ capacity, lined with sponge which was 
covered with muslin, and having an air-pump attached, so as to 
make constant renewal of the air easy, had been carefully prepared. 
This box was carried from the head of Rangeley on a spring wagon 
to Farmington, a distance of thirty-five miles, and thence by rail- 
road to its destination in New Jersey. Three days were occupied 
in the journey, but by unremitting care night and day the magnifi- 
cent fish were deposited alive in the pond at Stanley. Unfor- 
tunately, the weather was unusually warm for the season of the 
year. The temperature of the pond could not be reduced below 65°, 
and the larger of the two trout lived only eight hours. The female 
survived six days longer. Thus the attempt to propagate Rangeley 
trout in New Jersey by natural means failed. The larger of these 
trout was, unfortunately, not weighed when first captured, but, when 
dead, balanced the steelyards at precisely ten pounds. It is a well- 
known fact that all fish lose in weight after capture, and Professor 
Spencer F. Baird and Professor Agassiz both gave it as their opinion 
that when taken this trout weighed at least eleven and a half pounds. 
He measured thirty inches in length and eighteen inches in circum- 
ference. His tail spread eight inches and his jaws six and a half 
inches. He was mounted by one of the most skillful taxidermists in 
the country, Mr. Dickinson, of Chatham, N. J. 
24 


370 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


About this time (1867), Mr. Seth Green’s attempts to propagate 
trout artificially had begun to attract attention, and, anticipating the 
possibility of failure in transporting the live trout so great a distance, 
Mr. Page, to make assurance doubly sure, had secured 30,000 trout 
eggs which had been impregnated by the milt of the male in the 
method now so well understood. These had been carefully packed 
between layers of moss, and immediately upon their arrival at Stan- 
ley were deposited in the hatching-houses. After the usual interval 
of six weeks, Mr. Page had the gratification of seeing the newly 
hatched trout. In due time they were fed, and when they had 
attained a suitable size were liberated to stock the stream below the 
hatching-houses. Thus we have the history of one of the earliest 
and perhaps the first attempt in this country to take eggs from wild 
fish, transport them five hundred miles, and successfully hatch them. 

The determination of the members of the Oquossoc Angling 
Association fully to maintain the superiority of their fishing-grounds 
is conclusively manifested by the arrangements for artificial propa- 
gation which were made on Bema Stream, at the extreme south- 
eastern extremity of Lake Mooselucmaguntic, under the direction 
of Messrs. Page and L. L. Crounse. Three miles up Bema 
Stream, at the foot of a bold mountain, there bursts out from a 
rocky bed a series of remarkable springs, which in the spring 
and fall furnish much of the water that flows down the rapid 
stream to the lake. The water of these springs rarely falls below 
45°, or rises above 49°, and is therefore peculiarly adapted to the 
propagation of trout. The smaller trout from the lake, weighing 
two pounds and under, make these springs and the stream in the 
vicinity their spawning- grounds, and in the month of October they 
crowd the waters in great numbers. Mr. Stanley, while securing 
fish for spawn, has actually dipped up as many as six trout of an 
average weight of a pound each at one scoop of his dip-net. As is 
their habit, the males always come up in advance and clear off the 
beds, and in a few days the female follows. So strong is the instinct 
which leads them to the spawning-beds that the trout, like the sal- 
mon, will force themselves over shallows in the stream where there 
is not depth enough to permit them to swim. Just at the spawning- 
beds, and over the little branch which carries the water of the springs 
to the main stream, the gentlemen above named erected a hatching- 


Trout-Fishing tn the Rangeley Lakes. 271 


CLEFT ROCK. 


house. In return for this privilege, they agreed to place in the 
waters each season from 50,000 to 100,000 young fry, recompensing 
themselves for their trouble, if they could, by taking out spawn for 
use in other waters. In the seasons of 1873 and 1874, they were 
able to deposit in the streams more than the maximum of spawn 
agreed on. In 1875 and 1876, Mr. Stanley’s duties as fish commis- 
sioner prevented his giving this matter the necessary attention; but 
the young fry were so successfully hatched the first two seasons that 
a sudden increase of small trout has been noted in the stream itself 
and as far up as the Bema Ponds, four miles above the hatching- 
houses. Some of the spawn were successfully transferred to other 
waters,—the eggs had to be carried out in December, on the backs 
and Mr. B. B. Porter, the 
pisciculturist of Crystal Springs, New Jersey, can now show Range- 
ley trout double the size of any other variety of trout of the same age. 

The method of capturing trout for their spawn was either to dip 
them up near the springs with an ordinary net, as they came up to 
deposit the spawn, or to take large trout in the lake, chiefly with the 


of men, nine miles through the woods, 


fly, in advance of their ripening, and to “car” them until they were 
stripped, when they were restored to the lake. At one time in the 
fall of 1874, Messrs. Stanley and Hayford who were in charge of 


272 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


CATCHING A FIVE-POUNDER. 


the operation, had in a large car at the mouth of Bema Stream over 
two hundred of these famous trout weighing from one pound to six 
a sight which could not be paralleled in any other 


pounds each, 
waters in the world. 

The camps at Bema look out over the broad expanse of the bay 
which opens toward the north-west, and are very prettily situated. 
The very remoteness of the camp secures its freedom from the visits 
of miscellaneous tourists, while the beauty of its location and the 
excellent fishing to be found in its immediate neighborhood amply 
justify the wisdom shown in its selection by the gentlemen who con- 
trol it. They and their immediate friends here enjoy a coveted 
seclusion and keep clear of intruders by a lease of three miles of the 
shore which covers the entire southern end of Bema Bay. _ Its posi- 
tion, however, exposes the bay in its front to the north-west gales 
which prevail to a greater or less extent through the whole season. 
Those who are accustomed to wait for the traditional “fly breeze” 
will receive with incredulity the statement that the largest trout have 
been taken in these waters when a north-west gale was driving the 
spray from the white-capped waves, and when the persevering 
angler found a seat in the bottom of his boat the most comfortable 
position from which to cast his fly, if, indeed, the fly can be said to 
be ‘‘cast” when the wind carries the line so straight from the rod 
that it is difficult to keep the fly on the surface of the water. Yet 
the keen-eyed trout, at this very time, rushes the most unwarily 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 272 


upon his imaginary prey. <A sudden splash from which the spray 
flies in the face of the wind betrays the presence of one of these 
mammoth trout. If he misses the fly, a second cast almost invari- 
ably provokes the fated fish to a more eager rush. Rising through 
the topmost curl of the wave, his side, brilliant in purple and gold, 


THE SPIRIT OF MOOSELUCMAGUNTIC, 


gleams in the sunlight for an instant. But this time he is fast, and 
there is a thud as if a locomotive, under full headway, had been 
hooked. With a mad rush, he strikes for the depths of the lake, but 
the light rod yields like a thing of life. Whether the trout weigh 
one pound or eight, the lance-wood or split bamboo is faithful to the 
trust placed in it. With a pertinacity almost human it clings to the 
frantic fish, steadily drawing him to the surface until, after a contest 
which may have lasted only ten minutes or which may have been 
prolonged through two hours, the landing-net of the skillful guide 
deposits him in the boat. 

Apart from the risk of losing your trout because of the difficulty 
of landing him while the boat is tossing on the waves, this fishing in 
rough water has its perils, which add to its excitement if they do not 
increase its pleasures. One bracing September morging, I was 
industriously casting my fly from my boat, which was anchored three 
or four hundred yards from the sand-spit at the mouth of Bema 

24A 


374 Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 


Stream. The ‘Spirit of Mooselucmaguntic” (an effigy which the 
ingenuity of some of the campers had constructed from the gnarled 
roots which the waves had cast up on the beach and worn into 
incredibly fantastic shapes) looked upon the scene with a grin which 
foreboded some dire disaster. My guide, in despair at the determi- 
nation which persisted in casting a fly in such a gale, was fishing 
from the bow of the boat with a drop line. A sudden exclamation 
from him, a start and a sharp twitch, indicated that he had hooked a 
large fish. I turned to see him pull a beautiful three-pounder over 
the thwart, which he had depressed to the level of the water to save 
the trouble of using the landing-net. But our triumph was of short 
duration. No sooner had the victim been deposited in the boat than 
we both, in an instant, found ourselves pitched out of it and strug- 
gling in the water of the lake. Unnoticed by either of us in the 
excitement of the moment, our boat had swung around into the 
trough of the sea, and a huge wave had dashed in, completely filling 
it, and tipping it so nearly over that as the water came in we went 
out. Confident in my own swimming powers, I called to my guide, 
as soon as | came to the surface and grasped hold of the boat, that 
I could take care of myself, and not to be alarmed on my account. 
But a desperate series of flounderings on his part indicated to me 
what I had never before suspected, that, notwithstanding the fact 
that he had been a guide upon these waters for thirty years, e 
could not swim a stroke. His frantic efforts to insure his own safety 
quickly tipped the boat bottom-side up, and again sent us both 
under. When I came to the surface, he was seated astride of the 
bow in comparative safety, while the second submersion had so 
water-logged my heavy winter clothing that I found it impossible to 
do more than hang on to whatever part of the slippery bottom of 
the boat I could best clutch. Then it began to look as if our 
strait was desperate. The anchor-rope held our boat with the same 
firmness upon which we had before congratulated ourselves, and I 
fear that it would never have occurred to either of us to cut it and 
let the boat drift ashore. Fortunately, however, another boat hap- 
pened just at this crisis to be starting out upon the lake. By his 
vigorous yells, my guide attracted the attention of those in the other 
boat, and in a few moments it was alongside. My guide easily 
stepped from his place of refuge into the rescuing boat, nearly upset- 


Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes. 375 


ting that in his precipitancy, and then it came to my relief. But I 
could neither lift myself over its side, nor could those who were in it 
pull me in without imminent risk of capsizing. There was no other 
way but to tow me ashore ingloriously. As soon as my feet struck 
bottom, I waded to the beach, and then for the first time realized 
how completely my strength was exhausted, and for how short a 
time, in all probability, I could have sustained myself in the perilous 
position from which I had so happily escaped. A blazing camp-fire 
and a dry suit of clothes quickly restored my equanimity, which was, 
however, completely destroyed again by the reflection, which in an 
instant burst upon me, that my three rods, including a new split 
bamboo, together with a carefully prepared box of fishing-tackle, 
which contained my fly-books, were at the bottom of the lake 
and in water at least twelve feet deep. At first, it seemed as if 
my sport for that trip at least had been completely and disastrously 
terminated. One of our guides, who was an expert swimmer, com- 
forted me by the assurance that he could easily recover the 
more important articles by diving for them, and for a time it 
appeared as if this would be the only chance, until it occurred to us 
that one of the most enterprising and ingenious of our party had a 
day or two before constructed a square box with a pane of glass in 
the end, with which, after the manner of the sponge and pearl divers, 
he had been studying the bottom of the lake to discover, if possible, 
the localities which the trout were the most likely to frequent. 
Taking this out with us the next day, we found that the contrivance 
worked toa charm. Thrusting below the ripple the end of the box 
which contained the glass, and excluding the light as far as possible 
from the other end, every object on the bottom of the lake, at a 
depth of even fifteen or twenty feet, could be clearly discerned. 
A little patient labor with this and a large landing-net with a 
handle of sufficient length was finally rewarded with the recovery 
of every article of any value. The fly-books, however, were both 
destroyed, and part of their contents were seriously damaged ; 
still, these were trifling offsets to my own fortunate escape and that 
of my guide. 

An incident in strong contrast with this unfortunate beginning 
terminated this same eventful fishing trip. Mr. Page, although the 
most expert and enthusiastic fisherman of our number, had devoted 


376 Trout-Fishing tn the Rangeley Lakes. 


‘““MATCHING"’ A SEVEN-POUND TROUT. 


himself so assiduously to caring for the comfort of his guests that 
his own chances at catching the big trout had been seriously less- 
ened. It was our last afternoon together, and as the hours waned 
toward sunset, the surface of the lake became as smooth and as 
brilliant as burnished steel. Our three boats were anchored within 
a short distance of each other, and we were condoling with our 
friend upon his lack of luck, when suddenly, a few rods away, there 
was a quick swirl and splash which told of the presence of a big 
fish. ‘‘That’s my trout!” exclaimed Mr. Page, as he ordered his 
guide to haul anchor and scull him quietly over the spot where 
the fish had appeared. Two or three casts of the fly, and in an 
instant, with a ferocious rush, the trout had hooked himself so 
firmly that his final capture became only a question of time,— but 
of what a time! After two or three desperate struggles, during 
which he was met-at every turn with the skill of a practiced fisher- 
man, he settled sulkily at the bottom of the lake. Meanwhile, a 
gentle east wind had sprung up with the setting sun, and Mr. Page’s 
boat began to drift with it gently to the westward. Fifteen minutes, 
half an hour, three-quarters of an hour passed, and from our anchor- 
age we could see that the trout showed no signs of yielding,—nor 
did Mr. Page. As it gradually grew too dark to “cast” with satis- 
faction, my companion in the other boat and myself decided to haul 
up anchor and ‘go to see the fun,” which, at our distance from the 
scene of conflict, seemed to be growing decidedly monotonous. By 
this time Mr. Page had drifted fully half a mile to the westward, 


Trout-fFishing in the Rangeley Lakes. Ba 


and not once had the trout given any sign of yielding. When we 
came up with Mr. Page it was quite dark, and the contest, which 
did not seem so very unequal after all,—for it it was yet doubtful 
which would get the best of it,—had stretched out to a full hour 
and a quarter. Then, at last, the trout showed signs of exhaustion, 
and, yielding to the inevitable pressure of the elastic rod, was once 
brought near the surface, but not close enough to net. Settling 
again to the bottom, he had apparently made up his mind to stay 
there; but the gentle, steady persuasion of the faithful seven-ounce 
Murphy split bamboo fly-rod again proved too much for him, and, 
straining his tackle to the utmost, Mr. Page brought his victim 
gradually toward the surface. The three boats had now come so 
close together that the fish was shut in on all sides. But it had 
become so dark that it was difficult to discern objects with any 
distinctness, and to shed all the light we could upon the puzzling 
problem which was at last ap- 


proaching solution, we got to- 
gether all the matches we had 
with us, and made in each boat 
a miniature bonfire. Soon a 
commotion upon the surface 
of the water showed that the 


BREAKING CAMP. 


378 Trout-Fishing tn the Rangeley Lakes. 


critical moment had arrived. There, with his back fin as erect 
as ever, was a magnificent trout, which was soon in the landing- 
net, and in a moment after in the boat, after precisely an hour 
and a half of as steady and persistent a fight as a fish ever made 
for life. But his capture was a full reward for all the time and 
trouble it had cost, since he weighed by the scale full seven pounds. 

This trout and one weighing eight pounds which had been taken 
by Mr. Crounse were among the magnificent trophies which were 
carried away from Bema when we broke camp a day or two after- 
ward. And the scene upon that memorable morning was one to 
which it is difficult to do justice with pen or pencil. There was the 
batteau laden with all the camp paraphernalia, including the pet 
dog Prince. As passengers, there were the two leaders of the party, 
Messrs. Page and Crounse, each with his two boys, while the 
guides pulled the oars. ‘ Dan” Quimby, the faithful cook and 
profound philosopher, whose ‘corn-dodgers” had been in steady 
demand and in unfailing supply during the whole time of our stay 
in camp, was starting off for a ten-mile tramp overland to Madrid, 
leading the cow which he had brought in with him by the same 
route a month before, and the ‘spirit of Mooselucmaguntic,” stripped 
of its blanket, seemed to be dancing in wild glee at the prospect of 
being left in undisturbed possession of his wild domain. Two or three 
of us remained behind to catch a few more trout, and in the hope of 
a less boisterous passage to the main camp. After a day or two we 
followed, taking with us delightful memories of the camp at Bema, 
and trout enough to excite the envy of the less successful anglers at 
the other end of the lake. 


THE NET RESULT. 


BeEACK. BASS. Elsie Ge 


Wd 


By JAMES A. HENSHALL, 


AUTHOR OF ‘BOOK OF THE BLACK BASS," ETC. 


us 


GLORIOUS morning for fishing!” said the Professor, as he 
stepped down from the broad veranda of a stately Kentucky 
mansion, and out upon the lawn, dashing the dew-drops from 

the newly sprung blue-grass, as he leisurely strode along in his 

heavy wading boots. 

Professor Silvanus was a man yet in the prime of life, with a 
full beard, dark gray eyes, and a tall, powerful frame. A well- 
informed naturalist, a capital shot, and an artistic angler, he had 
wooed nature in her various moods, in all seasons, and in many 
lands. Facing the east, he now stood, clad in a quiet fishing suit of 
gray tweed, surmounted by a broad-brimmed hat of drab felt, the 
smoke from his briar-root pipe wreathing gracefully above his head 
like a halo before it was borne away on the early morning air. 

Meanwhile, Ignatius, his companion and disciple, was busily 
engaged in bringing out to the veranda the rods, creels, tackle- 
cases, landing-nets, lunch-basket, and other necessaries for a day’s 
fishing. 

“Luke is coming with the wagon, Professor,” said he, as a well- 
groomed span of bays to a light wagonette came dashing around 
the corner of the house. 

After depositing the various articles in the wagon, Ignatius took 
the reins, the Professor climbed up beside him with the rod-cases, 
while the colored man Luke, with a sigh, gave up the ribbons and 
took a back seat. 


380 Black Bass Fishing. 


The sun was just topping the maples when the impatient team 
went dashing through the road-gate. 

“The bass should rise well to-day,” said the Professor. 

“They are well through spawning, and if the water is right, 
everything else is propitious,” replied Ignatius. 

‘Mighty perfishus for chan’'l cats, too,” put in Luke; ‘’sides 
yaller bass an’ green bass, an’ black bass, too; any kind o’ bass.” 

‘“ Professor, how many kinds of black bass are there?” inquired 
Ignatius, ashe lightly touched up the flank of the off horse. 

“There are but two species of black bass, and they are as 
much alike as that span of horses; but from the many different 
names used to designate them in different parts of the country one 
would be led to think there were many species.” 

‘Local fishermen say there are three kinds here, 


black, yellow, 
and green bass,” asserted Ignatius. 


LARGE-MOUTHED BLACK BASS—MICROPTERUS SALMOIDES. (LACEPEDE.) [AFTER A DRAWING 
FROM NATURE BY DR. E. R. COPELAND. ] 

“ There are but two well-defined species, the large-mouthed bass 
and the small-mouthed bass,” continued the Professor, settling him- 
self fora lecture. ‘ There has been more confusion and uncertainty 
attending the scientific classification and nomenclature of the black 
bass than usually falls to the lot of fishes, some dozen generic appel- 
lations and nearly fifty specific titles having been bestowed upon the 
two species by naturalists since their first scientific descriptions by 
Count Lacépéde in 1802. Nor has this polyonomous feature 
been confined to their scientific terminology, for their vernacular 
names have been as numerous and varied; thus they are known 
in different sections of our country as bass, perch, trout, chub, or 
salmon, with or without various qualifying adjectives descriptive of 
color or habits.” 


Black Bass Fishing: 381 


SMALL-MOUTHED BLACK BASS—MICROPTERUS DOLOMIEU. (LACEPEDE.) [AFTER A DRAWING 
FROM NATURE BY DR. E. R. COPELAND. ] 


“Yes,” assented Ignatius, ‘I have heard them called black perch, 
yellow perch, and jumping perch up the Rockcastle and Cumberland 
rivers, and white and black trout in Tennessee.” 

“Exactly,” returned the Professor. ‘ Much of the confusion 
attending the common names of the black bass arises from the 
coloration of the species, which varies greatly, even in the same 
green, yellow, and spotted 


cS 


waters ; thus they are known as black, 
bass. Then they have received names somewhat descriptive of 
their habitat, as, lake, river, marsh, pond, slough, bayou, moss, grass, 
and Oswego bass. Other names have been conferred on account 
of their pugnacity or voracity, as tiger, bull, sow, and buck bass. 
In the Southern States they are universally known as ‘trout.’ In 
portions of Virginia they are called chub, southern chub, or Roanoke 
chub. In North and South Carolina they are variously known as 
trout, trout-perch, or Welshman; indeed, the large-mouthed bass 
received its first scientific specific name from a drawing and descrip- 
tion of a Carolina bass sent to Lacépéde, under the local name of 
trout, or trout-perch, who accordingly named it sa/mozdes, meaning 
trout-like, or salmon-like.” 

‘How do you account for the ridiculous practice of applying 
such names as trout and salmon to a spiny-finned fish of the order 
of perches?” asked Ignatius. 

“They were first given, I think, by the early English settlers 
of Virginia and the Carolinas, who, finding the bass a game fish of 
high degree, naturally gave it the names of those game fishes par 
excellence of England, when they found that neither the salmon nor 
the trout inhabited southern waters. In the same way the mis- 


382 Black Bass Fishing. 


nomers of quail, partridge, pheasant, and rabbit have been applied, 
there being no true species of any of these indigenous to America.” 

“Then, I should say the names are a virtual acknowledgment 
that they considered the black bass the peer of either the trout or 
salmon as a game fish,” said Ignatius. 

‘““As an old salmon and trout fisher,” replied the Professor, “I 
consider the black bass, all things being equal, the gamiest fish that 
swims. Of course, | mean as compared to fish of equal weight, and 
when fished for with the same tackle, for it would be folly to compare 
a three-pound bass to a twenty-pound salmon.” 

‘The long list of local names applied to the black bass,” resumed 
the Professor, ‘is owing chiefly to its remarkably wide geographical 
range; for while it is peculiarly an American fish, the original 
habitat of one or other of its forms embraces the hydrographic basins 
of the great lakes, the St. Lawrence, Mississippi, and Rio Grande 
rivers, and the entire water-shed of the South Atlantic States from 
Virginia to Florida; or, in other words, portions of Canada and 
Mexico, and the whole United States east of the Rocky Mountains, 
except New England and the sea-board of the Middle States. Of 
late years, it has been introduced into these latter States, into the 
Pacific slope, England, and Germany.” 

Reaching the summit of a hill after a long but gentle ascent, the 
river was disclosed to the view of the expectant anglers. At the foot 
of the descent was an old covered bridge which spanned a somewhat 
narrow but beautiful stream, winding in graceful curves among green 
hills and broad meadows. ‘The ripples, or ‘‘riffles,” sparkled and 
flashed as they reflected the rays of the bright morning sun, while 
the blue and white and gray of the sky and clouds were revealed in 
the still reaches and quiet pools as in a mirror. Driving through the 
time-worn and old-fashioned bridge with its quaint echoes, our 
friends left the turnpike and proceeded down a narrow road, follow- 
ing the course of the river to a small grove of gigantic elms, beeches, 
and sycamores, where a merry little creek mingled its limpid waters 
with the larger, but more pellucid, stream. 

While Luke unharnessed the horses and haltered them to the 
low limb of a beech, the Professor and Ignatius went up the creek, 
with the minnow-seine and bucket, and soon secured a supply of 
chubs and shiners for bait. The Professor then took from its case 


Black Bass Fishing. 383 


NEAR THE RIVER. 


and put together a willowy and well-made split bamboo fly-rod, 
eleven feet long, and weighing just eight ounces. Adjusting a light, 
German-silver click reel, holding thirty yards of waterproofed and 
polished fly-line of braided silk, to the reel-seat at the extreme butt 
of the rod, he rove the line through the guide-rings, and made fast 
to it a silkworm-gut leader six feet in length, to the end of which he 
looped, for a stretcher or tail fly, what is known, technically, as the 
“polka,” with scarlet body, red hackle, brown and white tail, and 
wings of the spotted feathers of the guinea-fowl; three feet above 
this, he looped on for dropper or bob fly, a ‘‘ Lord Baltimore,” with 
orange body, black wings, hackle and tail, and upper wings of 
jungle-cock, both very killing flies, and a cast admirably suited to 
the state of the water and atmosphere. 

Meanwhile, Ignatius, who was a bait-fisher, jointed up an ash and 
lance-wood rod of the same weight as the Professor’s, but only eight 
and a quarter feet in length, and withal somewhat stiffer and more 
springy. He then affixed a fine multiplying reel, holding fifty yards 
of the smallest braided silk line, to which, after reeving through the 
rod-guides, he attached a sproat hook, No. 1%, with a gut snell eight 
inches long, but without swivel or sinker, for he intended fishing the 
“riffles,” which is surface fishing principally. 

Slinging their creels and landing-nets, they were about to depart, 
when Luke spoke up: 


384 Black Bass Fishing. 


‘Mars’ Nash, will you please, sah, gib me one ob dem sproach 
hooks I heerd you all talkin’ bout las’ night; mebbe so I'll hang a 
big chan] cat wile you’re gone.” 

Ignatius, who was fastening the strap of a small, oblong, four- 
quart minnow- bucket to his belt, gave him several large-sized sproat 
hooks, saying : 

“There, Luke, you will not fail to hook him with one of these, 
and the Professor will guarantee it to hold any fish in the river.” 

“Right,” affirmed he; ‘‘the sproat is the hook beyond compare, 
the xe plus ultra, the perfection of fish-hooks in shank, bend, barb, 
and point.” 


Black Bass Fishing. 385 


While the Professor and Ignatius proceeded down the river, Luke 
rigged up a stout line the length of his big cane pole, a large red and 
green float, a heavy sinker, and one of the No. 3-0 sproat hooks. 
He then turned over the stones in the creek until he obtained a dozen 
large craw-fish, which were about to shed their outer cases, or shells, 
and which for this reason are called ‘* shedders,” or “ peelers.” 

“Now, den,” said he, “we'll see who'll ketch de mos’ fish. 
Umph! I wunder wat de ’Fessor do if he hang a big chan’'l cat 
wid dat little pole!” 

He then baited his hook with a ‘soft craw,” seated himself on a 
log at the edge of a deep pool, or “cat-hole,” and began fishing. 

The Professor and Ignatius took their way down-stream a short 
distance to where a submerged ledge of rocks ran nearly across the 
river, some two feet below the surface and about ten feet in width. 
The line of rock was shelving, or hollow underneath on the up-river 
side, the water being some six feet deep just under and above it, 
but shoaling gradually up-stream. The ledge was surmounted on 
its lower edge by a line of loose rocks which cropped up nearly to the 
surface, producing a rapid, or riffle. On the opposite side of the 
stream the bank was quite high and steep, forming a rocky, wooded 
cliff, where the snowy dogwood blossoms and the pink tassels of 
the redbud lit up the gark mass of foliage which was yet in shadow; 
for the sun was just peeping curiously over the top of the cliff, 
and shining full in their faces—for prudent anglers always fish 
toward the sun, so that their shadows are cast behind them. 

“Now,” said the Professor, as he waded out into the stream 
some fifty feet above the rocky ledge, “the bass have left the cool 
depths beside the rock and are on the riffle, or just below it, en- 
joying the welcome rays of the sun while waiting for a stray min- 
now or craw-fish for breakfast. [ll drop them a line.” 

So saying, he began casting, lengthening his line at each cast, 
—the line, leader, and flies following the impulse of the flexible rod 
in graceful curves, now projected forward, now unfolding behind 
him,—until the flies, almost touching the water full seventy feet in 
his rear, were, by a slight turn of the wrist and fore-arm and ap- 
parently without an effort, cast a like distance in front, where they 
dropped gently and without the least splash just on the lower 
edge of the rift. Immediately the swirl of a bass was seen near 

25 


336 Black Bass Fishing. 


the dropper-fly ; the Professor struck lightly, but missed it, for he 
was taken somewhat unawares and failed to strike quickly enough. 
Throwing his line behind him, he made another cast, the flies 
dropping, if possible, more lightly than before, and with a some- 
what straighter and tighter line. 

“T have him!” he exclaimed, as a bass rose and snapped the 
stretcher-fly before it fully settled on the water. ‘He hooked 
himself that time, the line being perfectly taut. He’s not a large 
one, though he gives good play,” he continued, as he took the 
rod in his left hand and applied his right to the reel, the bass, 
in the meantime, having headed up-stream to the deeper water 
beside the rock. 

‘No, no, my fine fellow, that will never do,” said he, as he brought 
the full strain of the fish on the rod by turning the latter over 
his shoulder and advancing the butt toward the struggling bass, 
which had made a desperate and quick dash to get under the 
rock when he found himself in deep water. This “giving the 
butt,” as it is technically termed, brought him to the surface again, 
when he instantly changed his tactics by springing two feet into 
the air, shaking his head violently in the endeavor to dislodge the 
hook, and as he fell back with a loud splash he dropped upon the 
line, by which maneuver he would have sucgeeded in tearing out 
the hook had the line still been taut; but the Professor was 
perfectly familiar with this trick, and had slackened the line by 
lowering the tip of the rod as the bass fell back, but instantly 
resumed its tension by again raising the tip when the fish regained 
his element. As the Professor slowly reeled the line, the bass 
dashed hither and yon at the end of his tether, but all the time 
working up-stream and toward the rod. Then he was suddenly 
seized by an impulse to make for the bottom, to hide under a rock, 
or mayhap dislodge the barb or foul the line by nosing against a 
stone or snag—but not to sulk; for be it known a black bass 
never sulks, as the salmon does, by settling motionless and stub- 
bornly on the bottom when he finds his efforts to escape are 
foiled. The bass resists and struggles to the last gasp, unless 
he can wedge himself beneath a rock or among the weeds, where 
he will work the hook out at his leisure. The Professor, keeping 
the line constantly taut and the rod well up, thereby maintaining 


THE PROFESSOR LANDING A DOUBLE. 


(DRAWN BY J. H. COCKS.) 


Black Bass Fishing. 389 


a springy arch, soon reeled the bass within a few feet, when he put 
the landing-net under him. Then addressing Ignatius, he said : 

“The humane angler always kills his fish as soon as caught 
by severing the spinal cord at the neck with a sharp-pointed 
knife, by breaking the neck, or by a smart blow on the head. 
Then raising the gill-cover, he bleeds the fish by puncturing a 
large venous sinus, which shows as a dark space nearly opposite 
the pectoral fin. Killing and bleeding a fish is not only a merciful 
act, but it enhances its value for the table, rendering the flesh 
firmer, sweeter, and of better color.” 

Ignatius was capable of admiring the Professor's humanity, but he 
was most attracted by his wonderful skill. His grace and deliber- 
ation, though natural and inborn to a certain degree, were chiefly 
the result of many years’ devotion to the rod and gun and the prac- 
tical study of the habits of fish and game. There is more symmetry 
of form and natural grace of motion among the aboriginal races of 
the world, trained to the pursuit of animals on land and water from 
childhood, than among the civilized and enlightened; our brains are 
developed and fostered at the expense of our bodies; therefore, the 
nervous, jerky, impatient, and impetuous man will never make a 
truly successful angler nor a really good shot, though he may attain 
to a certain mediocrity in both sports. 

At the next cast the Professor fastened a two-pound bass to the 
“polka,” and while giving him play another bass of the same weight 
took the “Lord Baltimore.” As these fish kept down-stream, the 
full force of the current was an additional factor of resistance to the 
rod, which seemed to Ignatius to bend nearly double, and caused 
him to say : 

‘You will have a hard time to land them both, Professor !” 

“Not necessarily, for although the weight is greater, they, to- 
gether, will not play much longer than a single fish, if so long; for 
they are pulling against each other. It only remains for me to hold 
them by the spring of the rod and let them fight it out.” 

His method of landing them was unique: Holding the net a few 
inches beneath the surface, he first drew in the bass on the stretcher- 
fly; then, as he turned up the lower or down-river half of the net-rim 
to the surface, he let the bass on the bob-fly drop back with the 
current into it, and lifted out both. 

25A 


390 Black Bass Fishing. 


Ignatius proceeded farther out into the stream, but parallel with 
the shelving rock. Then selecting a minnow four inches long, he 
passed the hook through the lower lip and out at the nostril. Reel- 
ing up his line to the snell of the hook, and with his thumb on the 
spool of the reel, he turned his left side to the riffle below; then 
swinging his rod to the right, the minnow nearly touching the water, 
he made a sweeping cast from right to left and from below upward, 
starting the minnow on its flight just before the tip of the rod reached 
its greatest elevation, by relaxing somewhat the pressure of his 
thumb on the spool, but still maintaining a certain light and uniform 
pressure to prevent the reel from back-lashing and the line from 
overrunning ; the minnow was neatly cast, in this way, some seventy- 
five feet, and just beyond the riffle. Then he reeled slowly, keeping 
the minnow near the surface (there being no sinker), and just as it 
was passing through the broken water of the riffle, a bass seized it 
on the run and continued his rush up-stream toward deep water. 
Ignatius reeled his line rapidly until he felt the weight of the fish, 
which then gave a short tug or two, when he was allowed to take a 
few feet of line, though grudgingly and sparingly, so as to keep it 
taut. lIgnatius then, feeling the bass pull steadily and strongly, 
drove in the steel by a simple turning over of the rod-hand, while 
drawing firmly on the line; this set the hook. 

The bass continued his race by swimming rapidly between 
Ionatius and the shore and then up the river, describing a half 
circle, the line being the radius. The bass, finding his progress thus 
stayed, sprang clear of the water several times in quick succession ; 
but Ignatius, instead of slackening the line, skillfully turned the bass 
over in the air by a slightly increased tension as it left the water, 
thus preventing, by another method, his falling across the taut line. 
This latter mode requires more adroitness than the plan used by the 
Professor, of lowering the tip of the rod to slacken the line as the fish 
falls back, but it can be more successfully and safely accomplished 
with the shorter and stiffer minnow-rod than with the fly-rod. The 
bass was sooner exhausted and brought to creel than if he had been 
down-stream, not having the strength of the current to aid him. 

“That is the best fish yet taken, Ignatius,” said the Professor ; 
“he will scale fully three pounds, and you landed him in two minutes.” 


“One should hold hard and kill quick.” 


Black Bass Fishing. 391 


AN IDEAL ‘‘STILL FISHER.” 


“With a qualification as to the rod, that is the true principle,” 
returned the Professor. ‘ With a properly made, light, and flexible 
rod, yes; with a bean-pole, no. With a well balanced, supple rod 
of eight ounces, a pound bass, even in swift water, can be easily 
killed in a minute, and one of five pounds in five minutes.” 

The Professor and Ignatius, having each taken a dozen bass, 
reeled up their lines and retraced their steps toward the wagon 
for luncheon. Turning a bend in the river, they came in sight 
of Luke, still sitting on the log with a firm hold on the rod, but 
sound asleep. 

“Behold the ideal still-fisher!” observed the Professor. 


392 Black Bass Fishing. 


Suddenly the float disappeared, the point of the rod was violently 
pulled into the water, and Luke, awakening, took in the situation, 
and with a savage jerk, struck a large fish which threatened to pull 
him from his perch. Indeed, he was forced to follow it into the 
water to save his tackle. 

Luke, seeing them approaching, cried out appealingly : 

‘Wat I gwine to do wid dis fish ?” 

‘Keep your pole up, and lead him out to the shallow water.” 

‘Finally, after a few minutes more of great effort, and much 
floundering of the fish, he succeeded in getting the fish into shallow 
water, and drew it out on the shore, a channel cat-fish, weighing fully 
ten pounds. 

‘‘T got de boss green bass, too, Mars’ Nash,” said he, as he drew 
his fish-string out of the water and displayed a large-mouthed bass 
of four pounds. 

“And the only large-mouthed bass caught this morning,” said 
the Professor. ‘‘ Now, Ignatius,” he continued, ‘lay it side by side 
with your heaviest small-mouthed bass, and you will readily see the 
principal points of difference. In the first place, Luke’s fish is more 
robust, or ‘chunkier,’ yours being more shapely and lengthy. Then 
Luke’s bass has much the larger mouth, its angle reaching consider- 
ably beyond or behind the eye, while in yours it scarcely reaches 
the middle of the eye; thus it is they are called large and small- 
mouthed bass. Then the scales of Luke’s fish are much larger than 
those of yours, for if you count them along the lateral line you will 
find only about sixty-five scales from the head to the minute scales 
at the base of the caudal fin, while there are about seventy-five on 
either of your small-mouthed bass. You also observe that the scales 
on the cheeks of Luke’s fish are not much smaller than those on its 
sides, while on your fish the cheek scales are quite minute as 
compared with those on its body. 

“As for Luke’s big-mouthed bass,” continued the Professor, 
“lve taken them in Florida weighing about fourteen pounds. I 
used a ten-ounce rod for those big fellows; I could have killed them 
with this little rod by taking more time and muscle, and uselessly 
prolonging the struggles of the fish, but I deem that unsportsmanlike.” 

“Tve heard,” said Ignatius, “that most of the Florida bass are 
taken with the hand-line and trolling-spoon.” 


Black Bass Fishing. 393 


“That is the way most Northern tourists usually take them, be- 
cause they don’t know how to handle a rod; and then, the necessary 
tackle for hand-trolling can be carried in the pocket. It is the sim- 
plest mode of angling, if it can be dignified by that name, for it is 
more suggestive of meat, or ‘pot,’ than sport. The pseudo-angler 
sits in the stern of a boat with a stout line, nearly the size of an 
ordinary lead-pencil and about seventy-five yards long, to the end 
of which is attached a spoon-bait or trolling-spoon, with one or two 
small swivels. When the boatman rows the boat slowly and quietly 
along the trolling-spoon, revolving swiftly beneath the surface at the 
end of fifty yards of line, glittering and flashing in the sunlight, 
is eagerly seized by the bass as it passes near his lair, when one 
or more of the hooks attached to the spoon are fixed in his jaws. | 
While there is a certain amount of excitement in hauling in the 
struggling bass by ‘main strength and stupidity,’ as the mule pulls, 
there is not the faintest resemblance to sport, for there is no skill 
required in the manipulation of the line or bait or in handling the 
fish when hooked.” 

“Do they troll with the hand-line, too?” asked Ignatius. 

‘Not many of them; they use a long rod or pole for still- 
fishing, skittering, and bobbing.” 

“What are skittering and bobbing?” 

‘“ Bobbing has been practiced in Florida for more than a century, 
and is a very simple but remarkably ‘killing’ method of fishing. 
The tackle consists of a long cane or wooden rod, two or three 
feet of stout line, and the ‘bob,’ which is formed by tying three 
hooks together, back to back, and covering their shanks with 
a portion of a deer’s tail, somewhat on the order of a colossal hackle- 
fly; strips of red flannel or red feathers are sometimes added; 
all together forming a kind of tassel, with the points of the hooks 
projecting at equal distances. The man using the bob is seated in 
the bow of a boat, which the boatman poles or paddles silently and 
slowly along the borders of the stream or lake, when the fisher, 
holding the long rod in front of him, so that the bob is a few inches 
above the surface, allows it to dip or ‘bob’ at frequent intervals in 
the water, among the lily-pads, deer-tongue, and other aquatic 
plants that grow so luxuriantly in that sub-tropical region. The 
bass frequently jumps clear of the water to grab the bob, but 


394 Black Bass Fishing. 


usually takes it when it is dipped or trailed on the surface. Deer 
hair is very buoyant, and the queer-looking bob seems like a huge, 
grotesque insect, flying or skimming along the clear, still waters. 

“ Skittering,” continued the Professor, ‘is practiced with a 
strong line about the length of the rod, to which is affixed a small 
trolling-spoon, a minnow, or a piece of pork-rind cut in the rude 
semblance of a small fish. The boat is poled along, as in ‘ bobbing,’ 
but farther out in the stream, when the angler, standing in the bow, 
‘skitters’ or skips the spoon or bait over the surface just at the edge 
of the weeds. Skittering is a more legitimate method of angling 
than bobbing, for with the longer line the bass gives considerable 
play before he can be taken into the boat; and as this manner of 
fishing is usually done in shallow waters abounding in moss, grass, 
and weeds, the fish must be kept on the surface and landed quickly. 

‘“Tgnatius, you should become a fly-fisher,” added the Professor. 
“ Your style of bait-fishing is admirably suited to the Northern lakes 
and the deep rivers, where, indeed, it is the favorite method with 
the best anglers, though a small swivel or sinker is necessary to 
keep the minnow beneath the surface. But on such a charming, 
rapid, and romantic river as this, the artificial fly alone should be 
used. This afternoon, when the sun is low in the west, bass will 
again rise to the fly, and if you like we will try them again.” 

And now, while the Professor and Ignatius are talking of other 
matters over their pipes, we will conclude by wishing “good luck” 
to the entire fraternity of anglers, from him of the esthetic fly to him 
of the humble worm, but with a mental reservation as to him of the 
hand-line and spoon. 


IN THE HAUNTS OF BREAM AND BASS 


By MAURICE THOMPSON. 


Te 
REAMS come true and everything 
Is fresh and lusty in the spring. 
In groves, that smell like ambergris, 
Wind-songs, bird-songs never cease. 
Go with me down by the stream, 


Haunt of bass and purple bream; 


Feel the pleasure, keen and sweet, 
When the cool waves lap your feet ; 


Catch the breath of moss and mold, 
Hear the grosbeak’s whistle bold ; 


See the heron all alone 
Mid-stream on a slippery stone, 


Or, on some decaying log, 
Spearing snail or water-frog, 
Whilst the sprawling turtles swim 


In the eddies cool and dim! 


i 
The busy nut-hatch climbs his tree, 
Around the great bole spirally, 
Peeping into wrinkles gray, 
Under ruffled lichens gay, 


Ln the Haunts of Bream and Bass. 397 


Lazily piping one sharp note 

From his silver-mailéd throat, 

And down the wind the cat-bird’s song 
A slender medley trails along. 

Here a crackle chirping low, 

There a crested vireo; 

Every tongue of Nature sings, 

The air is palpitant with wings ! 


Halcyon prophesies come to pass 
In the haunts of bream and bass. 


iitife 
Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Like an old tune through a dream. 


Now I cast my silken line: 
See the gay lure spin and shine— 


While, with delicate touch, I feel 
The gentle pulses of the reel. 


Halcyon laughs and cuckoo cries, 
Through its leaves the plane-tree sighs. 


Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Here a glow and there a gleam, 
Coolness all about me creeping, 
Fragrance all my senses steeping, 
Spice-wood, sweet-gum, sassafras, 
Calamus and water-grass, 

Giving up their pungent smells 
Drawn from. Nature’s secret wells ; 


On the cool breath of the morn 
Fragrance of the cockspur thorn. 


IV. 
I see the morning-glory’s curl, 
The curious star-flower’s pointed whorl. 


398 In the Haunts of Bream and Bass. 
Hear the woodpecker, rap-a-tap! 
See him with his cardinal’s cap! 


And the querulous, leering jay, 
How he clamors for a fray! 


Patiently I draw and cast, 
Keenly expectant, till, at last, 


Comes a flash, down in the stream, 
Never made by perch or bream, 


Then a mighty weight I feel, 
Sings the line and whirs the reel! 


v. 
Out of a giant tulip-tree, 
A great gay blossom falls on me; 


Old gold and fire its petals are, 
It flashes like a falling star. 

A big blue heron flying by 
Looks at me with a greedy eye. 
I see a stripéd squirrel shoot 
Into a hollow maple-root ; 


A bumble-bee, with mail all rust, 
His thighs puffed out with anther-dust, 


Clasps a shrinking bloom about, 
And draws her amber sweetness out. 


Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Like an old tune through a dream! 


A white-faced hornet hurtles by, 
Lags a turquoise butterfly, 


One intent on prey and treasure, 
One afloat on tides of pleasure ! 


Sunshine arrows, swift and keen, 
Pierce the maple’s helmet green. 


Ln the Haunts of Bream and Bass. 399 


VI. 
I follow where my victim leads, 
Through tangles of rank water-weeds, 


O’er stone and root and knotty log, 
And faithless bits of reedy bog. 

I wonder will he ever stop ? 

The reel hums like a humming-top | 

A thin sandpiper, wild with fright, 
Goes into ecstasies of flight, 

Whilst I, all flushed and breathless, tear 
Through lady-fern and maiden’s-hair, 
And in my straining fingers feel 

The throbbing of the rod and reel! 


Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Like an old tune through a dream! 


VIL. 
At last he tires, I reel him in; 
I see the glint of scale and fin. 


I raise the rod—I shorten line 
And safely land him; he is mine! 


The belted halcyon laughs, the wren 
Comes twittering from its brushy den, 


The turtle sprawls upon his log, 
I hear the booming Of ai frog. 


Liquid amber’s keen perfume, 
Sweet-punk, calamus, tulip-bloom, 


Glimpses of a cloudless sky 
Soothe me as [| resting lie. 


Bubble, bubble flows the stream, 
Like low music through a dream. 


SAE MON- ELS EDENGs* 


By AY Gs WILKINSON: 


LTHOUGH the salmon is the acknowledged king of fishes, 
and the taking of it the most royal of sports, yet compara- 
tively few indulge in the pastime. There are certainly 

many, and those too among the foremost men of our country, 
who concede fully the benefits to be derived, not only from open-air 
life and exercise, but from having some pursuit or specialty outside 
of business and profession,— call it hobby, if you will,— which, while 
it gives rest to certain faculties of the mind, equally exercises and 
strengthens others. They realize truly that life is better than fame, 
and sound lungs and good digestion than a fat purse; but the diff- 
culties in the way of taking salmon turn most of these in a different 
direction for their recreation. 

The three principal hinderances to salmon-fishing in this 
country are: the great trouble in obtaining either a lease of a 
stream or a permit for the best part of the season; the great 
distances to be traveled, and consequent loss of valuable time ; 
and the large expense as compared with other sorts of outdoor 
amusements. 

The region where salmon can at the present day be taken, in suff- 
cient numbers to reward one for the attendant trouble and expense, 
is a circumscribed one. Beginning at Quebec, and following down 
the river St. Lawrence, the salmon-streams are very numerous upon 
the northern shore, and extend far away to the Labrador coast. 
Among them are the well-known Laval, Godbout, Trinity, St. 
Margaret, Moisic, St. John’s, Magpie, Mingan, Great and Little 
Romaine Rivers. 


26 ties 


402 Salmon - Fishing. 


The range of mountains on the north shore runs within a few 
miles of the St. Lawrence, and hence the rivers upon that side are 
very short and rapid, giving but few good pools, and are, as a gen- 
eral thing 


Ss) 


very difficult to fish. Only a few good streams are found 
on the south shore, among which are the Rimouski, Grande Metis, 
and Matane. Passing down the Gulf of St. Lawrence, we come to 
the Basin of Gaspé, into which flow three admirable streams; and 
farther on, upon the north shore of the Bay of Chaleurs, and at its 
western end, are some of the best, including the famous Restigouche, 


ON THE GODBOUT. 


fished yearly by Englishmen who cross the Atlantic for that express 
purpose ; also the Cascapedia, made more noted through Mr. Daw- 
son's charming letters from there, where, at a good ripe age, he took 
his first salmon. The Nipisiguit on the south shore of the Bay of 
Chaleurs and the Miramichi on the eastern coast of New Brunswick 
are the last salmon-streams of any account until we come to Nova 
Scotia, where there are a few upon its south-east coast below 
Halifax. 

In Cape Breton there is a single good river, the Margarie. Here 
and there small streams are found in other parts of New Brunswick 


Salmon -Fishing. 403 


JUNCTION OF THE RESTIGOUCHE AND MATAPEDIAC RIVERS. 


and in the Island of Anticosti, but practically salmon-angling is con- 
fined to the rivers of Canada East and those of the northern part of 
New Brunswick, which includes the Miramichi. 

But few of the rivers we have mentioned debouch near a steamer 
landing, and all others are difficult of access. To reach these latter 
the angler must manage in some way to get transportation for many 
miles over a rough country, where it is difficult to find horses, wagons, 
or roads; or he must charter a small sailing-vessel and run along a 
most dangerous coast, carrying with him both canoes and men, The 
Restigouche and Matapediac are reached with comparative ease from 
Dalhousie, a landing-place of the Gulf Port steamers. This line of 
steamers also touches at Gaspé Basin, leaving passengers just at the 
mouths of the three streams flowing into it. These are the York, St. 
John, and Dartmouth, called by the natives the South-west, Douglas- 
town, and North-west. These rivers are among the best stocked in 
Canada. The scenery about them is most varied, and in this respect 
unlike most other parts of Canada, where one tires of the monotony 
of mere grandeur and longs for the picturesque. They flow chiefly 
through deep gorges, or cafons, and between mountains, which 
occasionally rise to the height of a thousand or fifteen hundred feet. 
Beautiful lakes, filled to repletion with brook-trout, are found on the 
high land between the rivers, which for quite a distance flow within 
a few miles of one another. These streams are very rapid, and in 
early spring are almost torrents, and yet they have very few falls 


404 Salmon -Ffishing. 


THE VALLEY OF THE MATAPEDIAC. 


around which a “carry” must be made. Comfortable houses have 
been erected at some trouble and expense every ten or twelve 
miles on those parts of the York and St. John which abound in 
good pools. 

The Canadian Government exercises complete control of the 
principal salmon-streams, both in their tidal and fluvial parts. Leases 
are commonly given for several years, but occasionally a schedule of 
vacant rivers is published, giving “upset” or minimum prices at 
which season permits will be granted. These vary from $20 to 
$500 in gold. The very fact that such advertisement is made 
indicates of itself that the rivers are not, for some reason, very de- 
sirable. The best rivers are leased for eight or ten years, and upon 
the likelihood of a vacancy, numerous applicants bring influences 
to bear to secure the chance at once. 

It is understood that as a general thing leases of the better class 
of streams are not to be given to the “States” people, as they call 
us of the United States. Our political anglers often remark that it 
is more difficult to lease a good salmon-stream than to secure an elec- 
tion to Congress. A thousand dollars has been paid for the use of 
the fluvial part only of a first-class stream for a single season, this 
including, of course, all the fittings and canoes, etc. Add to the 
cost of a “permit” the traveling and camping expenses, and the 
price of good salmon tackle, which is always of the most expensive 
sort, and you swell the sum-total of a summer trip to quite an 
amount. 


Salmon - Fishing. 405 


While the Canadians are so tenacious of their leases, and naturally 
desirous of keeping the best streams for themselves, yet they are most 
generous and kind to their ‘‘ States” friends. Often, one is not only 
accorded a permit to fish, but receives an invitation to make, for the time 
being, all the accessories and fittings of the stream his own, including 
houses, canoes, and cooking-utensils. My invitation, some years ago, 


il 


Z 
A 


CANADIAN SALMON RIVERS AND GASPE BASIN. 


from that genial sportsman, Mr. Reynolds, of Ottawa, was to make the 
York river my own, paying simply for my men and provisions. His 
guests kill every year many salmon to his one, and he enjoys their 
success far better than his own. An Indian would wish him, in the 
happy hunting-grounds, the exclusive right of the best stream. We can 
only express our heartfelt wish that for a score of years to come he 
may continue yearly to take his 47-pound salmon in his favorite stream. 
To the cost of stream and tackle must be added the great uncer- 
tainty of getting fish. One may secure the best stream, purchase 
the best tackle, and travel a thousand miles to no purpose, for Sado 
salar is a very uncertain fish, and the worst sort of a conundrum. 
Sometimes he comes early and sometimes late; sometimes he goes 
leisurely up the rivers, lingering accommodatingly at the pools, and 
seemingly in good mood for sporting with flies; and sometimes, 
when kept back by the ice of a late spring, he goes for the head- 
waters at once, only stopping when compelled by fatigue, and then 
26A 


406 Salmon - Fishing. 


having no time to waste upon flies. Last year, with scores of salmon, 
by actual count, in the different pools, often not more than one in a 
pool could be tempted to rise to our flies. All these combined causes 
make the number of salmon-anglers small. 

A stream being secured, the selection of tackle is an easy matter. 
A water-proofed American-made silk line of about three hundred 
feet, tapering gradually at each end, so that it may, when worn, be 
changed end for end, is the one generally used in this country. A 
simple reel with click is the best, and it may be of hard rubber 
or metal, as preferred. If of metal, it is usually nickel or silver 
plated. In olden times, the Scotch salmon-angler strapped around 
his waist a roughly made wooden reel of large size, called a 
pirn. It was entirely unconnected with the rod, along which the 
line was carried by rings, beginning quite a distance above the hand. 
In the old Scotch works upon angling, we read of the gaffer singing 
out to his laird, ‘Pirn in! pirn in! you'll be drooned and coot” 
(drowned and cut), by which he meant, ‘ Reel in, or your line will 
bag and be cut off by getting around 
the sharp edges of the rocks.” 

The Scotch poaching angler sus- 
pends by straps under his outer gar- 
ments a capacious bag of coarse 
linen for concealing his salmon, while 
quite innocently he carries in his hand 
a string of trout. Lord Scrope once 
caught a poacher with a salmon in 
his bag, and demanded how it got 
there. The reply was, ‘“How the 
beast got there I dinna ken. He 
must ha’ louped intil ma pocket as | 
war wading.” 

The leader, of nine to twelve feet 
nearest the hook, is of the best 
selected silk-worm gut, which should stand a test of four or five 
pounds strain. This gut is made by taking the silk-worm just 
before it begins to spin its cocoon, and soaking it in vinegar some 
hours. The secreting glands of the worm are at that time filled with 
the mass of glutinous matter from which the silk of the cocoon is to 


Salmon - Fishing. 407 


be spun. One end of the worm, after it is thus soaked, is pinned 
to a board, and the other stretched out some eight or ten inches 
and secured. When this is hardened, it becomes the beautiful 
white, round gut of commerce, which, when stained water-color, and 
dropped lightly in the pool, will not be noticed by the fish. 

In the matter of rods, the conservative man still clings to a well- 
made wooden one of greenheart or other approved wood, of which 
the taper and strength are so accurately proportioned that the addition 
of but a few ounces at the end of the line carries the main bend or 
arch nearer the butt end. Those who are not so conservative, and 
who are fond of lessening in every practicable way the somewhat 
tedious labor of casting the fly, choose a rod of split bamboo, which 
weighs about two pounds. My own weighs but twenty-seven ounces, 
although nearly sixteen feet long. No one will risk himself upon a 
stream without extra rod, reels, and lines, and if he takes a green- 
heart and split bamboo, he has two as good rods as are made. One 
who has long used a heavy wooden rod has at first a feeling of 
insecurity and a distrust of the slender bamboo, which can, if neces- 
sary, be wielded by a single strong arm. It is said an old Scotch- 
man, handling one of these rods for the first time, exclaimed: ‘‘ Do 
ye ca that a tule to kie a saumont wi’? I wad na gie it to my 
bairnies to kie a gilsie wi.” It should be explained that a grilse 
is a young salmon just returned from a first trip to the sea. After 
its second trip, it returns a salmon proper, with all the characteristic 
markings. It often happens that a grilse (called by the Scotch “ gilsie,” 
or salmon-peel) is larger than a salmon one or two years older, the 
varieties differ so in size. The young of the salmon are first called 
parrs, and have peculiar spots and dark bars, or “ finger-marks,” as 
they are called. At eighteen months, they are some six inches long, 
and the following spring silver scales grow over the bars and spots, 
when they are called smolt, retaining that name until they go to sea. 
For a long time the parr was held to be a species of trout, and 
entirely distinct from salmon. Lord Scrope, the author of *‘ Days and 
Nights of Salmon-Fishing,” a work now extremely rare, held long 
and animated discussions with James Hogg, the ‘“ Ettrick-Shep- 
herd,” upon this subject, which was settled practically by a Mr. Shaw, 
of Drumlanrig, who tagged a parr and identified it again as a full 
grown salmon in 1836. 


408 Salinon - Fishing. 


IN THE HARBOR OF ST. JOHN. 


The manufacture of a fine rod of split bamboo is a work requir- 
ing great skill and judgment, not unlike that required to make the 
far-famed Cremona violin. The rods are made usually from Calcutta 
bamboo, as it has a larger proportion of enamel with tough fiber and 
long growth between joints. In the Japanese bamboo, the fibers 
follow the joints too closely, and so must be cut into in straightening 
the pieces. Our American cane is lighter, and the enamel is very 
hard and elastic, but the inner woody fiber is soft as well as brittle. 
Sometimes several invoices of Calcutta cane will not contain one 
suitable piece for rod-making. The canes mildew on the passage, 
and this injures the fibers. Sometimes they are injured in being 
straightened over a fire, and often a single worm-hole ruins the 
entire piece. Just as our forest trees have the thickest and roughest 
bark on the north side, so the bamboo has thicker and harder enamel 
upon whichever side was exposed to storms. In making fine rods 
not only the best cane is selected, but the best side of this selected 
cane is preferred. 


Salmon - Fishing. 409 


The split bamboo rod is an instance in which nature is success- 
fully improved. The cane in its natural growth has great strength 
as a hollow cylinder, but it lacks the required elasticity. The outer 
surface or enamel is the hardest of vegetable growth, and is made up 
largely of silica. The rod-maker, by using all of the enamel possible, 
and by his peculiar construction avoiding the central open space, 
secures great strength with lightness, and nearly the elasticity of 
steel itself. 

In making a rod, some ten or twelve feet of the butt of the cane 
is sawed off and split into thin pieces or strands. These pieces are 
then beveled on each side, so that when fitted together they form a 
solid rod of about half the diameter or less of the original hollow cane. 
This beveling is done with a saw, or a plane if preferred, but more 
expeditiously by having two rotary saws or cutters set at an angle 
of 60° to each other, in case the rod is to be of six strands. The 
strip is fed to the cutters by means of a pattern which, as the small 
end of the strip approaches, raises it into the apex of the angle 
formed by the cutters. This preserves a uniform bevel, and _ still 
narrows each strand toward its tip end so as to produce the regular 
decrease in size of the rod as it approaches the extreme end. These 
strips can also, if desired, be filed to a bevel by placing them in trian- 
gular grooves of varying depths in a block of lignum-vitea. The 
pieces are then filed down to the level of the block, which is held in a 
vise during the operation. 

The six or twelve strips as required, being worked out, and each 
part carefully tested throughout its entire length by a gauge, are 
ready for gluing together, a process requiring great care and skill. 
The parts should be so selected and joined that the knots of the cane 
“break joints.” The parts being tied together in position at two or 
three points, the ends are opened out and hot glue well rubbed in 
among the pieces for a short distance with a stiff brush. A stout 
cord is then wound around the strands from the end glued toward 
the other portions, which are opened and glued in turn, say eight or 
ten inches at a time. A short length only is glued at one time so 
that slight crooks in the pieces can be straightened, and this is done 
by bending the rod and sliding the pieces past each other. During 
the gluing all inequalities and want of symmetry must be corrected 
or not at all, and so the calipers are constantly applied to every side 


410 Salmon - Fishing. 


at short intervals, and any excess of thickness cor- 
rected by pressing the parts together in a vise. 
Figure 1 shows a section of a length of bamboo 
cane from which the strips indicated by spaces 
marked off are to be sawed. Figure 2 is an end 
view of the six strands properly beveled and glued 
together. This length or joint of the rod is made 


up of six sectors of a circle whose diameter is 
greater than that of the rod, and hence it is necessarily what in com- 
mon parlance might be called six-cornered. Figure 3 is an end view, 
natural size, of a six-stranded salmon-rod tip at its larger end; and 
Figure 4 is a longitudinal view of a piece of a Leonard trout-rod 
lying before me. This figure 
as the calipers can deter- 
amount of skill, patience, 
required in the art we have 


tip of twelve strands now 


gives the size as accurately 
mine it, and shows what vast 
and untiring industry is 
been describing. 

The ferrules are water-tight and expose no wood in either the 
socket or the tenon part. Bamboo is so filled with capillary tubes 
that water would be carried through the lengths and unglue 


ESO 
WY 


FIG. 2. 


them, if it could once reach the ends where the joints of the “© 
rod are coupled together; hence the necessity of careful eo 
protection at this place. The entire rod when finished is covered 
a = Sith) the best scopaliicoachmvagmeam 

FIG. 4. By taking care to renew the varnish 
from time to time, no water need ever get to the seams. 

In spite of the prejudice against what has been called a gentle- 
man’s parlor rod, they have steadily gained in favor. Twenty- 
five years ago, a London firm made. split-bamboo rods, putting 
the enamel inside.* Naturally enough, with the soft part of the 
cane exposed to wear and weather, and nearly all the enamel sac- 
rificed, they did not find favor in the eyes of thoughtful or scientific 
anglers, at least. Mr. Phillippi, living at Easton, Pa., conceived the 
idea, in 1866, of putting the enamel upon the outside, where it 
would do the most good. Next, Mr. Green and Mr. Murphy put 
their heads together, and made rods of this sort of four strands, 


2) 


* See “ The Split Bamboo Rod—lIts History, etc.,” by Mr. William Mitchell, in 
this book. 


Salmon-Fishing. A1l 


and finally the old well-known | — 
firm of A. Clerk & Co., New | 

York, introduced into the mar- | 
ket the Leonard rod of six and | 
twelve strands, and have 
since been sup- 
plying Europeans 
with all they get 
of this article.* 

I have taken 
not a little pains 
to get, as far as 
possible, a cor- 
rect history of 
this somewhat re- 
markable inven- 


tion. My own rod 
of this kind has 
been used in both 
rain and shine for 
several seasons, 


GAFFING AT ‘BIG 
SALMON HOLE.” 


fect order. In careful 
yet seen a rod of its 
weight, or of its length ae any weight, that could throw a fly quite 
as far; and, light as it is, it brought last year to gaff in twenty min- 
utes a thirty-five pound fish, which my friend Curtis gaffed for me, 
off the high rock at the “ Big Salmon Hole” of the York. Any rod 
with which one has killed many and large fish is, naturally, held to 
be perfection upon the stream; but the rod we have been describing 
is beautiful as an odje¢ de vertu, and in the library becomes a source 
of joy to every admirer of skilled workmanship, though he be not 
familiar with its use. 

This illustration shows the angler who has kept just strain 


and is now in per- 
tests, | have never 


* |I have seen a split bamboo rod made, according to the suggestions of that distin- 
guished angler, the late James Stevens, of Hoboken, by Blacker, of London. This 
rod is of three sections, with the enamel on the outside, and was made in 1852 
while Mr. Stevens was in London. This date has been accurately determined for 
me by his son, Mr. Frank Stevens. — Eprror.| 


412 Salmon - Fishing. 


enough on the rod to prevent the hook from dropping out of the 
mouth of the fish,—which measured forty-eight inches in length, 
—while his friend, after having skillfully hooked him with a pro- 
digiously long gaff, is drawing him forward so as to use both hands 
in lifting him upon the rock. As some of our skillful surgeons 
perform even the delicate operation for a cataract equally well with 
either hand, so must the successful salmon-angler become ambidex- 
trous. In casting he must be able, of course, to use either hand for- 
ward at will, and when one arm has become lamed by holding the 
rod, as it rests against the waist in playing a fish, and takes nearly 
all the strain while the other manipulates the reel, he must be able to 
change the position of the reel upon the rod, and work it with his 
left hand while his right manages the rod. This-left-handed arrange- 
ment is shown in the figure with the reel on top in its proper posi- 
tion, and the right hand taking all the strain. 

The scientific angler, as soon as the fish is hooked, turns his rod 
over and brings his line uppermost, so that it hugs and strains the 
rod equally at every inch of its length, leaving to the rings their 
proper function of simply guiding the line. 

Having, through Mr. Curtis’s kindness, received an invitation 
from Mr. Reynolds, as already mentioned, to fish his river, the York, 
accompanied by any friend whom I might select, I provided myself 
with a Norris greenheart and a Leonard bamboo in the way of rods, 
and with an assortment of proper flies. 

It is, however, in the selection of friends to accompany us that we 
find the greatest difficulty connected with a projected excursion for 
salmon. One may have plenty of friends who would make camp-life 
delightful, and whose presence at the festive board ‘“ would make a 
feast of a red herring”; but they cannot be ordered for a trip, like 
tackle. Your choice must, as a matter of course, be very much re- 
stricted. You will never trust yourself in camp with your best friend 
unless you have seen him under fire; that is to say, unless you know 
how he will stand the thousand and one annoyances incident to long 
journeys with poor conveyances and still poorer hotels; with black 
flies, sand-flies, mosquitoes, fleas, and worse. The best companion 
of the library, the drawing-room, and the watering-place, although 
possessed of the most kindly attributes, oftentimes becomes absolutely 
unendurable when quartered for a day or two on the banks of a Can- 


Salmon -Fishing. 413 


A CANADIAN FISHING RIVER. 


adian river, with limited cuisine, unlimited numbers of insects, and 
poor luck at angling. Never go with one who is painfully precise, 
and who wishes to have everything his own way and at once. Such 
a man might as well stay away from Gaspé, where the natives always 
have their own way, and never, under any circumstances, hurry. 
Never go with one who is over-excitable or enthusiastic, for it isn’t 


414 Salmon - Fishing. 


just the thing to have a man standing on his head in a birch-bark 
canoe every time he gets ‘a rise,” or the canoe takes a little water 
running down rapids. The experienced angler chooses a friend who 
is deliberate, and takes all ills philosophically, and, if possible, one 
with that fortunate disposition which permits him to keep both his 
head and his temper under all circumstances. Other things being 
equal, he selects an admirer and follower of Brillat-Savarin, for he 
has ever remarked that one who fully enjoys and appreciates the 
best of dinners is just the one to endure with equanimity the worst, 
if no better is attainable. 

To be eighteen miles from the main camp when fish are 
rising as fast as they can be killed, and to have but three 
pieces of pilot-bread for the angler and his two men, and to 
be forced to go without supper and breakfast, or else give up 
the sport and return, will bring the bad out of any man if it is 
in him. 

Your companionable angler need not always take things quite 
as coolly as did a well-known editor who, once upon a time, 
while engaged in pulling in a blue-fish, after sawing his fingers 
with a hundred or more feet of line, was seized with hunger and 
fatigue, and, taking a hitch about a cleat, satisfied his inner man 
with sardines and 
crackers. To the 
surprise of all his 
companions, after 
finishing his lunch 
and resting his 
fingers, he pulled 
in the fish, which 
had swallowed the 
hook so far down 
that it had to be 
cut out. Of course, 
the first few feet of 
the line which he - 
used was wired so 
that it could not 
be bitten off. 


THE PHILOSOPHICAL ANGLER. 


Salmon -Fishing. 415 


Here is a sketch from life of 
a jolly English gentleman, who 
gets thoroughly disgusted every 
time he loses a fish. He then, 
without saying a word, quits the 
business, puts his back against 
a smooth tree, and takes a short 
nap, leaving others to thrash the 
pools. It is worthy of note that 
one need never fear meeting 
snobs, swells, or disagreeable 
people fishing for salmon. The 
air of a first-class stream seems 
fatal to all such. 

The last of June, 1874, found 
Mr. Lazell and the writer tired 


OUR ENGLISH FRIEND. 


out with close attention to 

duties, and with barely frame-work enough left ‘‘to veneer a decent 
man upon,” rendezvousing at the office of Fred. Curtis, Esq., in 
Boston, preparatory to setting out for Gaspé Basin, Canada East. 
An idler cannot appreciate fully the enjoyment we felt in anticipa- 
tion of several weeks entire freedom from business of any sort. 
To get so far from civilization that no irascible inventor can find 
you and argue his case until your head seems ready to burst; no 
client can bore you for hours without giving a single important fact 
in his case; and where you will hear of no impecunious creditor's 
paper going to protest,—is worth a large amount of preliminary toil. 
After having, as Lazell asserted, taken an outfit sufficient for a 
whaling voyage, we devoted still a day to getting little odds and 
ends which Curtis’s experience had taught him to provide—things 
which seemed superfluous, and in fact almost absurd, and yet worth 
their weight in gold when one is thirty miles from a settlement. 
Lazell finally, getting a little out of patience, sarcastically insisted 
upon our taking a crutch, in case any one should lose a leg. Six 
weeks later, when my unfortunate friend, after cooling off too sud- 
denly from a twelve-mile walk on a hot day, found himself unable to 
use one leg, and hence was deprived of his turn at the distant best pool, 
we turned back the laugh by suggesting the crutch which we had 


416 Salmon - Fishing 


QUEBEC FROM THE RIVER. 


failed to bring. The only desir- 
able thing we did forget was a box — 
of Bermuda onions. These could not be procured in Canada, and 
were ordered thither from Boston by telegraph. They only reached 
us ten days after our arrival upon the stream; and if a tippler longs 
for his drams as we did for the onions, after a diet of fish and salt 


meats, we pity him. 

To one about to make a trip to Canada East, we would say: 
Start in all cases from New York, even though you live in 
Boston. Take express trains direct from New York to Montreal 
without change, and then the Grand Trunk Railway or night 
steamer to Quebec. We started twice from Boston, going once 
by Portland and the Grand Trunk, and once by the Passumpsic 
Railroad. One can on these routes endure waiting from six or 
seven p. M. until ten p. mM. and then, after two hours’ additional 
travel, waiting from midnight until three a. m. at Newport, Rich- 
mond, or Island Pond; and at Richmond being crammed in a small 
room packed with French-Canadian laborers who never heard of a 
bath—I say one caz, but he doesn’t wish a second experience of the 
same sort. The Frenchman’s remark, that all roads are good which 
lead to victory, didn’t console us when we arrived in Quebec on time. 

A day in the quiet, quaint old city of Quebec is not without 
pleasure and profit. One goes away feeling that, after all, heavy 
taxes with progress and improvement are not such objectionable 
things. The quiet of Quebec is broken but once each day—upon 
the departure of the steamer for Montreal. 


Salmon-Fishing. 417 


In Quebec, salmon-anglers get their 
supplies usually from Waters of John 
street, Upper City, who from long 
experience needs only to be told 
the size of your party, the time of 
your stay, and approximately, the 


limit as to expense. When you go 
aboard your steamer, 
everything will be 
found there admirably 
packed, with not an 
article wanting,—not 
even extra corks 


for stopping op- 
ened and _ partially 
used bottles,—and the 
genial old countryman himself, with 


bill of lading in hand, awaiting your 
coming to wish you good-bye and 
galore of sport and salmon. 

Tuesday, the last day of June, 
1874, at two o'clock P. m. we set sail in 
the “Secret,” formerly the fastest of the 
Southern blockade runners. ; 


We were due in Gaspé Basin at four A. M. 
Thursday, but were delayed by storm, and did not 


arrive 
off the 
Cliffs until 
one Pr: M. For quite a 
distance before reaching 


2 i! 
7 A MEMORY OF QUEBEC. 


418 Salmon -Fishing. 


Gaspé Head, which is at the immediate entrance of the Bay, we 
sailed past long lines of small boats anchored at intervals of a few 
hundred feet. Into these boats we could see with a glass the cod-fish 
pulled at rapid rates. 

The last few miles of sea-coast is a rugged, nearly perpendicular 
cliff, in some places over eight hundred feet in height, and resembling 
somewhat the Dover Cliffs, but more remarkable in appearance. As 
we turned Gaspé Head, the sun shone out warm and bright, the 
water became more quiet, and our lady passengers were able to get 
on deck, and to enjoy themselves for the first time since leaving 
Quebec. 

So well had our kind friend Reynolds arranged matters, that all 
our men, with horses for taking us with our luggage up the stream, 
were awaiting us at the wharf. 

We delayed a little to receive the honest welcomes of a score or 
more of the inhabitants, who, having learned that friends of Mr. 
Curtis had arrived, lost no time in paying their respects. Our friend 
Curtis has a way of going around the world, dispensing favors right 
and left, and but few prominent persons in Gaspé had not at some 
time received the much coveted permit for a day’s fishing, accom- 
panied with flies and leaders, or something else equally desired. We 
were now to reap the reward of his thoughtfulness about little matters. 

One can be made uncomfortable by a thousand little annoyances, 
and he will be, if in any way he gets the ill-will of the people near 
his stream. If he acquires a reputation for bargaining and paying 
small prices for services rendered, he had better at once give up his 
stream and seek another as far from it as possible. Accompanied 
with the honest hand-shake of some of the hardy fishermen was their 
assurance that they should as usual expect all our worn-out flies and 
frayed leaders upon our return from the river, and also any spare 
fish we thought not worth sending home. Their universal “so long” 
in place of good-bye amused us not a little, but why they use it or 
whence it is derived we could not conjecture. 

Half a mile from the landing we stopped upon high ground near 
the residence of Mr. Holt (then our efficient Consul at Gaspé), to 
enjoy our surroundings. 

At our feet was the Bay, by common consent scarcely less beau- 
tiful than the Bay of Naples, which it resembles when seen from a 


Salmon -Fishing. | 419 


PERCE ROCK, SOUTH OF GASPE BASIN. 


certain point. In the hazy distance was the indistinct line of the 
Gaspé Cliffs, and our steamer rapidly making her way to the Gulf. 
The sun lighted up most beautifully the intense green of the forests, 
which were broken here and there by neat white cottages and their 
surrounding patches of still brighter green. Although the very last 
of June, the foliage was not yet burned by the summer’s sun, and the 
grass was but just greening. 

Six miles from the settlement the road became a mere path, and 
we took to our saddles, which the thoughtful George had stowed in 
our two-horse wagon. Two miles farther and we were at the first 
pool of the river called the High Bank Pool. We determined at 
once to try it and throw our virgin fly for salmon. Setting up our 
rods, we scrambled down the steep gravel bank with the enthusiasm 
of school-boys. Insects of various sorts were there long before us, 
and soon we were compelled to send Coffin up the bank for our 
veils. The veils used are of the thinnest silk darége, in form of a 
bolster-case open at both ends, which are gathered upon rubber 
cords. One cord goes around the hat-crown and the other around 
the neck under the collar. These veils perfectly protect the face 
from insects, but do not allow smoking, and interfere slightly with 
the vision; I therefore discarded them, and now use a brown linen 
hood with cape buttoning under the chin. The pests were so per- 
sistent that we were glad to put on linen mitts, which tie around the 
elbow and leave only the finger-tips exposed. Finally, the little 
brutes drove us to anointing our finger-tips with tar and sweet-oil, a 
bottle of which usually hangs by a cord from a button of the angler’s 
coat. A philosophical friend once insisted that it only required the 
exercise of strong will to endure the pests, and that protection was 


420 Salmon -Fishing. 


effeminate. The second day, he looked much the worse for wear, his 
handsome face disfigured with swellings, and his eyes almost closed 
from the poison of 
the bites. 

We now work- 
ed away in com- 
parative comfort 
until I saw Lazell, 
who was afew hun- 
dred feet distant, 
suddenly dash off 
his hat and com- 
mence slapping 
his head with both 
hands as if deter- 


mined to beat out THE STRATEGIC ANGLER. 

his brains. I con- 

cluded that he must have had a rise, and that, contrary to his 
custom, he had become excited. Going to him, I found that the 
black flies, baffled at all other points, had found the ventilating 
eyelet-hole upon each side of his hat-crown, and had poured in 
through them in hordes upon the top of his unprotected head. 
Getting no rise, I climbed up the bank to await my more perse- 
vering friend. (It may be noted, in passing, that we learned a few 
days later that we had not cast within several hundred feet of that 
part of this pool where salmon usually lie.) Soon my friend’s head 
appeared over the bank with apparently a good stout stick thrust 
completely through it, hat and all, as if some stray Micmac had shot 
him with a roughly made arrow. The solution of this was that 
Lazell had plugged up the holes in his hat with a broken rod, and 
thus cut off the flies from their favorite foraging grounds. 

It is a fact not generally known that the farther north you go, 
the larger and more venomous are the mosquitoes. According to 
the late lamented Captain Hall, of Arctic fame, one knows little of 
the annoyance of these insects who has not been in Greenland dur- 
ing the summer months. After a summer upon the Gaspé streams, 
a person of even large inquisitiveness doesn’t long for any more in- 
formation upon that branch of natural history. They are so trouble- 


Salmon - Fishing. 421 


\is — 


some there that, to fish comfortably, it is neces- = 
sary to protect the face and neck, and cover the LN .} 
finger-tips with a mixture of tar, sweet-oil, and ; 
Peaayroyal. Gaspé insects seem fond of new- 
comers, and our blood afforded them a favorite tipple. 
Seriously, however, we were not much inconven- 
ienced, as we took every known precaution against 
them, and not only had our rooms thoroughly smoked 
with smudges, but kept large smoldering fires around the 
houses the greater part of the time. When ladies fish, 
a smudge is kept burning upon a flat stone in the canoe. 
We reached our comfortable quarters at House No. 1 
at nine p. M. while it was still light. We found that our 
house was clapboarded, and contained two comfortable 


rooms; one with berths like a steamer’s, which were 
furnished with hair mattresses and mosquito-bars; the 

other served as sitting and dining room. A large log 

house adjoined and was furnished with a good cooking- 

stove, while a tent was already pitched to serve as quarters for our 
men—five in number. Stoves and furniture are permanent fixtures 
of the houses at the different stations, as are the heavier cooking- 
utensils, so that in moving up the stream one has merely to carry 
crockery, provisions, blankets, and mosquito-bars,—which latter are 
of strong thin jute canvas. Above the first house, the men make your 
beds of piles of little twigs of the fragrant fir-balsam, whose beauties 
have been recorded by every writer upon angling. Near each house 
is a snow-house, dug into the hill-side and thickly covered with fir- 
boughs and planks. The snow is packed in them in winter by the 
men who go up for that purpose and to hunt the caribou that frequent 
the hills adjoining the river. The snow lasts through the season, and 
is more convenient than ice. If one drinks champagne, he has but to 
open a basket upon his arrival and imbed the bottles in the snow, and 
he has at any moment a /rapfe equal to Delmonico’s best. The fish 
as soon as killed are packed in the snow, as are the butter, milk, and 
eggs when brought up every two or three days by the courier, who 
remains at the Basin ready to start for you at any moment that let- 
ters or telegrams arrive. Our courier delighted in surprises for us 
such as baskets of native strawberries and cream for our dessert. Ten 

27A 


422 Salon - Fishing. 


cents at Gaspé buys quite a large basket of this exquisitely flavored 
wild berry. 

I have been thus minute in describing our surroundings, because 
I believe more comfortable and complete arrangements are found on 
no other stream. It is all very well to camp out under an open 
“lean-to” or tent, and exceedingly healthful and enjoyable, but we 
rather enjoyed this comfortable way of living. Standing for six hours 
or more daily, while throwing a fly or killing a fish, is hard work for 
one of sedentary habits, and gives enough exercise and oxygen to 
make one wish for good living and quarters; and with this open-air 
life one may indulge his appetite with impunity if he can get the 
food, for his digestion and assimilation are at their best. 

The difference between the temperature at midday and midnight in 
the mountainous regions along the Gaspé salmon-streams is notable. 
One day last season, the air at nine a. M. was 74°, at two Pp. M. 84°, 
and at half-past seven p. M. 51°. We were anxious to get approx- 
imately the temperature of the water of these northern streams 
to compare with the water of streams farther south, which had been 
stocked with young salmon by Professor Baird, United States Fish 
Commissioner, and so made the best observations possible with a 
couple of ordinary thermometers. At the bottom of one pool in the 
York, near the mouth of the Mississippi. Creek, which is a roaring 
little branch of the York coming down from the snow of the neigh- 
boring mountains, the water at midday was but 40%° Fahrenheit, 
while the air was 78°. In other pools on this river we found the 
temperature at noon to be 44° at the bottom and 44%° at the sur- 
face, with the air at 60°. This was well up among the mountains, 
thirty-five miles above the mouth of the river. Lower down the 
stream, 48° bottom, 48° surface; and sometimes after a very warm 
day, 47%° to 48%° at eight o'clock p. m. Ten or fifteen miles dis- 
tant, upon the Dartmouth, which flows through a less mountainous 
country and has longer and more quiet pools and less shaded 
banks, we found the pools varying from 55° to 59° when the air 
was 60° to 70°. 

Upon the first morning of our arrival, we dd xoft get up at three 
A. M., when the day was just dawning, and order up our men to get 
breakfast. We had been in northern latitudes before, and took the 
precaution to hang our rubber overcoats over the windows to darken 


PERCE ROCK. 


Salmon - Fishing. 425 


them, thus keep- 
ing out the early 
morning light and 
securing a long 
night's sleep. Our 
first day opened 
with a drizzling 
rain which forbade 
fishing. After 
coming a_ thou- 
sand miles, and 
with but six days’ 
“permit ” upon 
our stream, a 
rainy day seemed 
like a misfortune. 

About ten 
o'clock, the sun 
came out, and | 
went to the pool directly in front of the house, to practice casting 
with both hands as well as get used to standing in a cranky 
canoe. Soon a fish rose and hooked himself, only making it known 
by spinning off a few feet of line as he dropped back to position 
at bottom of pool. A fish will thus hook himself nine times in 
ten if the fly comes slowly over him with a taut or at least 
straight line behind it. More fish are lost by too quick striking 
them than by other bad management. The steel-like tip of the rod 
upon the slighest pull at the fly springs forcibly back and fixes the 
hook at once. I had resolutely determined never to strike, and 
have never done so. I may have lost a fish by it, but am sure 
more would have been lost by striking. Of course, a strong, quick 
pull is given after the fish is hooked and has started the reel, 
in order to imbed the hook more firmly. Soon my reel was furi- 
ously whirling. I had read about the “music of the reel” and 
all that sort of thing ad nauseam, as I had often expressed it; 


MISFORTUNE, 


but somehow, after hearing a salmon in his first fierce run upon a 
reel with a stiff click, the wonder was that people had not written 
more about it. 


426 Salmon - fishing. 


MY FIRST SALMON, 


One cannot afford entirely to 
ignore book teaching. Having 
read and re-read every standard 
author on salmon-angling, my 
rod-tip was at once, and without 
thought, lowered when this lively‘ 
little fellow made his first leap in 
the air, and showed the beautiful 
silver of his sides. It was done 
just as the fingers strike the proper key upon a musical instrument, 
when the player's mind is too far away perhaps to name the tune 
he has unconsciously run into. Of course, if you do not lower 
your rod-tip, the fish, falling upon a taut line, will break himself 
loose. This fish showed no disposition to leave the pool for the 
rapids below, but went first to one side, and then to the other, 
sweeping around by the farther shore, and jumping clean from 
the water each time he turned. It was impossible to keep below 
him, so rapidly did he change place. In spite of all the strain 
which could be safely put upon him, he would now and then get a 
hundred feet below the rod and rest there in comparative ease, with 
the force of the current balancing my strain upon him in an opposite 
direction. When you ean keep abreast of your fish, or a little below 
him, the current, weight of line, and your strain of two or three 
pounds all in the same direction will soon tire him out. 

Most anglers greatly miscalculate the force exerted by the rod, 
and will speak of using many pounds’ strain. An actual test with a 


Salmon -Fishing. 427 


spring balance upon various rods showed that rarely is a strain of 
three pounds put upon the fish, and, in fact, few rods can raise a four- 
pound weight at the end of a line. 

As my fish became tired and slowly passed the gaffer, he tried to 
gaff and missed. This goaded the fish to more desperate running and 
plunging in the direction of a projecting tree-trunk lying upon the 
water. If he could have reached it, he would have run under and 
then jumped back over it, leaving the line fast while he broke him- 
self free. Soon his runs were shorter and his jumps less frequent, 
and finally, from very weakness, he would turn upon his side. I 
swung him gently toward the gaffer, who in his eagerness had waded 
nearly waist-deep into the pool. In an instant the fish was strug- 
gling at the end of the cruel gaff, making hard work for the man’s 
brawny arms, and in a moment more he was laid upon the shore, 
where old William Patterson gave him the coup de grace with a 
stout short stick carried for that purpose in every canoe. Just at the 
moment of gaffing many fish are lost; for if more strain is exerted 
than usual, the hook breaks out of the well-worn hole in the jaw, 
and if the strain is relaxed a moment before the gaff is in, the slack 
line lets the hook drop out of the enlarged opening. 

My trip and trouble had not been in vain, as my first salmon 
had been hooked and played to gaff without the slightest assistance. 
Before putting him in the snow, I lighted my pipe and sat quietly down 
to admire and talk to him. It seemed wonderful that the little thread 
of silk-worm gut could have conquered so brave a fish. 

Finding but few fish in the lower pools, we broke camp on Mon- 
day, and set out for House No. 2, at what is called the Big Salmon 
Hole. The men assured us that it would be impossible to pole the 
canoes with ourselves and provisions over the shoal rapids, and that 
in several places they would have to unload and make a “carry.” In 
order, then, to favor our men, Mr. Lazell and I set out to walk the 
distance, with the cook to show the way and carry our tackle. We 
could risk the wetting of our extra clothing and provisions, but did 
not care to have our rods floated down the stream, in case of an 
overturn. Of itself, a twelve-mile walk is not objectionable, but 
when one must climb over a dozen fallen trees at every hundred 
yards, it becomes monotonous. Six miles from camp we came 
to the North Fork, a roaring brook of perhaps eighteen inches 


428 Salmon - Fishing. 


fon . eae in depth. Lazell, with his wad- 
are . ing-boots, stalked triumphantly 
across, while the cook and I 
went down a quarter of a mile 
to cross upon a tree which, some 
years ago, had fallen and formed 
a natural bridge. There was 
no path along this wind-swept 
gorge, and trees were piled upon 
trees, making many windfalls to 
be gotten over. At the end of a 
long half hour we came back to 
where Lazell was awaiting us. 
Could we have met the man 
who said there was a “ pleasure 
in the pathless woods,” he would 
have fared badly. The truth was 
that the dead-wood of the bridge 
had broken under our weight, 
and we were wetter than if we 
had waded the branch. Often upon this trip we touched, with our rod- 
cases or gaff, the partridges which unconcernedly flew up and lighted 
on the lower branches of the trees. We reached the pool, and killed 
a fish before the canoes arrived. The next morning, Annette, Lazell’s 
gaffer, came tumbling down from a tree where he had been sent to 
point out where the salmon were lying, and ran to the house yelling 
as if crazy, ‘Mr. Lazell has got his first fish, and he’s a whopper !” 
Sure enough he had ona fish, and it commenced sulking at once. 
He had lighted his pipe and taken his seat just where one of Mr. 
Reynolds's friends, in 1873, took his breakfast while holding his 
sulking fish with one hand. Having gone to the pool with my light 
bamboo, to which he was unaccustomed, he was unprepared for 
heavy fighting, as he felt insecure and had a dread of breaking it. 
Now and then, by rapping on the metal butt of the rod with a stone, 
the vibrations of the line would start the fish into making a short run 
and lazy jump. The men all put the fish at thirty-five pounds, and 
they are rarely more than a pound or two out of the way. Soon the 
fish began quietly working for the deepest part of the pool, and in 


THE PATIENT ANGLER. 


Salmon -Fishing. 


spite of all the strain my friend 
was willing to put on him, finally 
got there under the edge of a 
sharp ledge. The salmon com- 
menced sawing upon the line 
whenever a strain was brought 
to bear, and this necessitated 
giving line at once. After work- 
ing for one hour and forty min- 
utes, the leader parted. 

Without a word, Lazell took 
his own greenheart rod, and in 
a few minutes was busily cast- 
ing at the very upper end of the 
pool, above where he had hooked 
the first fish. As good fortune 
would have it, he soon hooked a 
large one which came down the 
pool and tried the same game, 
but he managed to stop him and 
slowly swing him away from the 
center of the pool each time. 
Ouite soon the fish ran and 
jumped enough to weaken him- 
self, and was brought up to the 
gaffer. This was my friend’s 
first salmon, and it weighed 
thirty-three pounds. 

The skill of our men in gaf- 
fing struck us as remarkable, for 
during the season they missed 
for us but a single fish. Not the 
same romance attaches to them 
as to Indians, and they do not 
present that statuesque appear- 
ance while gaffing, but they are 
a thousand times more reliable, 
and always know better where 


A HALF-BREED NETTING SALMON. 


430 Salmon - Fishing. 


the fish lie, and how quickest to aid you to circumvent and kill them. 
The Gaspé men can give even the best of anglers a valuable hint 
occasionally, which it is quite safe to follow, as it often saves a fish. 
They come from that good old stock, Scotch-English, and are as 
true as steel. Money and jewelry were safer in our camps than at 
home in the way of our servants. They never touch a drop of 
liquor, and work faithfully from morning till night. Even after long 
and tedious hours of poling up rapid streams, under a hot sun, they 
are ready to anticipate your slightest wish. All the men ask for, 
beside fish, is pork, hard bread, sugar, and black tea. Without the 
latter they are good for nothing. They make the tea in the tea- 
kettle itself, and drink several large tincupfuls at a sitting. Follow- 
ing this by a five minutes’ pull at a pipeful of navy plug tobacco, 
they are ready for work. 

In favorable seasons, the Big Salmon Hole of the York is good for 
two or three fish daily; and as Lazell was unable to walk by reason 
of cooling too rapidly after our twelve-mile walk, it seemed best to 
leave to him the exclusive use of this and the other pools near House 
No. 2. On Wednesday, therefore, | set out for the Narrows, near 
which are the last and best pools of the river, leaving two men to 
come with the canoe and luggage, and taking one with me. We 
arrived before noon, and, after lunch, carefully inspected the pools. 
By crawling quietly to the edge of low cliffs, or climbing trees, we 
could count the fish by scores, lying quietly behind small stones or 
just at the edge of the current, with heads up-stream. Att first, one 
unaccustomed to it only sees large numbers of dark, smooth stones, 
as he expresses it; but soon a little wavy motion of the lower end of 
the object is seen, and you find that they are all salmon, only the 
dark backs being visible as you look down upon them. They rest in 
these pools for several days, to gain strength for leaping the falls 
just above. Often one hundred and fifty have been counted in the 
lower or long pool at the Narrows, and frequently not more than a 
single one will take the fly. 

The matter of taking a fly seems to be one of sheer sport. It is 
a well established fact that salmon eat nothing during the several 
months they remain in the rivers. Before entering the Gaspé streams 
they gorge themselves with capelin, a small fish resembling our smelt. 
Quite often fish which we killed at the lowest pools had undigested 


Salmon - Fishing. 431 


parts of capelin in their stomachs. As their digestion is known to be 
very rapid, this indicates a high rate of speed against a swift current 
up fierce rapids and over falls. A bit of dried leaf seems to amuse 
them as much as an artificial fly. Dropping a 
leaf quietly off a tree into a pool, we could see 
a salmon rise and take it, and after getting to 
» the bottom open his mouth and let it float up 
‘ to the surface again, when other fish would take 
it, one after the other, apparently enjoying the 
sport like kittens at play. So distinctly could 
we see the salmon that we easily traced the 
scars of the nets, which are found on large 
numbers. Many we take have an eye entirely 
blinded from the wound made by the twine. At 
one time, just under the upper falls, I was for some fifteen minutes 
so near a salmon that I could have touched him with the end cf my 
rod. The water was shallow and clear, and gave a good opportunity 
of closely watching the king of fishes as he majestically sailed 
around, probably wondering whether he would succeed in his leap 
over the falls. Dozens of his fellows were coming up at intervals to 
look at the falls, but not one could be tempted to take the slightest 
notice of any fly in our books, although we were out of their sight 
and threw our flies within a few inches of their noses. 


We had with us rods, reels, gaffs, and, unfortunately, a new and 
untested package of leaders. The run of the first fish hooked parted 
a leader. A second leader shared the same fate; and a third was 
taken by a salmon who determined to leave the pool and go down 
the rapids below. Testing our leaders with the spring balance, we 
broke them at a pound or pound and a half strain, although they had 
previously received a thorough soaking. We were in a bad predica- 
ment; salmon everywhere; pools full of them, and seeming eager 
to rise, and no suitable leaders with which to take them. We made 
the best of it, and with what patience we could, awaited the canoe 
with our large fly-books containing new gut. From this we after- 
ward tied leaders which stood a strain of five pounds, and were soon 
engaged in trying to overcome a strong, lively fish. 

Presently our head man sung out, ‘“ You must lose your fish or get 
a drenching.” A small dark cloud came over the near mountain, trav- 


432 Salmon - Fishing. 


eled rapidly down the gorge, and before one of the men could bring a 
rubber coat from the house, a few hundred yards distant, the rain was 
pouring upon us. The rapidity with which heavy showers follow 
down the gorges and course of the streams at Gaspé is somewhat 
startling to a new-comer. Of course, the fish must at all hazards be 
killed; and, of course, this particular fish was not in half the hurry 
to come in out of the water that we were, but tried our patience in 
many ways, sometimes taking us in the canoe where we couldn't 
wade, and sometimes through quite deep water where we did not 
wish to take the canoe and disturb the pool. It was thirty-five min- 
utes before faithful old William had him quiet at the bottom of the 
canoe. He, as well as all our men, preferred to get us into a canoe 
before gaffing, when practicable, for they then felt much more sure 
of the fish. The Gaspé-built canoes are very long, and if the angler 
passes one of the men and steps to the extreme end, he can with per- 
fect ease swing the fish to the gaffer at the other end, always taking 
great care not to reel in his line beyond its junction with the leader. 
If he does this and the gaffer misses, or the tired fish gets up life 
enough fora short spurt, then the knot sticks in the tip ring, and 
good-bye to fish and tip. It is with some reluctance that we differ 
with so good an authority as Norris, in his ‘American Anglers’ 
Book,” but we prefer canoe gaffing. We were all thoroughly soaked 
with rain, and I was additionally uncomfortable from having gone 
over the tops of my rubber wading stockings ih water, which at two 
pr. M. was only 42° Fahrenheit. As there were but three hours more 
of this the last day of our permit, we could not afford to lose a moment. 
As soon as the sun came out, I hooked a second fish, and worked 
away busily until in the three pools I had killed five, when I stopped, 
wearied as well as satisfied with salmon-fishing, 
most urgent entreaties to ‘kill another, and make it a half dozen.” I 
have never made a large score or killed a very large fish, but this work 
of three hours and a half was quite satisfactory, and is here given: 


resisting our man’s 


1 Fish of 22 Ibs., Fairy Fly. 

I Ae 7 Ai an v2 € 

Toe ccen 2 OT OCKmSCOLLmEl ys 
To erent silver Doctorelily: 
I Ge ey Gs Silver (Carhy Oe 
5 112%. Average, 22% lbs. 


Salmon - Fishing. 433 


The healthful excitement as well as open air exercise enabled us 
without ill effects to endure this three and a half hours’ wetting. 
At half-past four a. m. next day, the canoe went down with the 
fish, and | walked to Middle House, where | found Lazell in good 
spirits over one thirty-three pound fish and other smaller ones. 


Hastily packing, we set out in our canoes for House No. 1, where 
we took in additional fish and luggage. Running down the rapids 
between sharp rocks, both out of the water and under its surface, 
where all your safety depends upon the accuracy of your men’s 
knowledge, their nerve, and the strength of rather slender spruce 
setting-poles, is quite exciting to a novice. At the word “check 
her” from old William at the stern, young James throws his entire 
weight suddenly upon his pole in the bow. Several times the pole 
broke, and necessitated quick work in dropping the pieces and grasp- 
ing a second one, which is always kept within reach in running 
rapids. Upon breaking a second one, in all likelihood we would 
have got an extremely unlucky dipping. 

We reached Gaspé the same day, having made thirty-five miles 
since half-past four a. M., and were in time to have our fish packed in 
snow and forwarded by the afternoon steamer for Quebec. For 
transportation, the fish are first ‘‘drawn” through the gills, then filled 
with snow and packed two in a box. The snow is then rammed 
solid around them until it resembles in consistency a cake of ice, and 
the box is placed inside of a much larger one. The space between 
the two boxes is now filled with sawdust. At Quebec, the boxes are 
examined and refilled, if necessary, before forwarding by rail. Our fish 
left Gaspé Thursday, were in Boston in good condition the Tuesday 
following, and were served at the Somerset Club just a week after they 
were killed. With ice in place of snow, the packing is usually a failure. 

Finding a letter at Gaspé inviting us to fish the Dartmouth, we 
went over to that river on July roth, taking horses to a place called by 

28 


434 Salmon -Fishing. 


the habitants Lancy Cozzens, which we presumed to be a cor- 
ruption of L’azse aux cousins. From this point we proceeded by 
an invention of our own. One of the three canoes had a small 
sail, and holding another canoe by our hands upon each side of it, 
we voyaged very independently 
until we tried to tack under a 
very stiff breeze—a performance 
which didn’t take place exactly 
to suit us. Reaching the nar- 
rower part of the stream, we 
took our setting-poles in ortho- 
dox fashion, and soon reached 
camp, where we found a com- 
modious wall-tent ready pitched, 
and all needed cooking-utensils, 
as well as a salmon for supper, 
left in the house by some de- 
parting friends. 

The sea-trout had just com- 
menced running up the river, 
and gave us most serious 
annoyance. The sea-trout is 
anadromous, and follows up the 
salmon some weeks later. An 
old trout-angler believes you 
not quite sane, and much less 
serious and truthful, when you 


AN IRATE ANGLER. 


positively assure him that oftentimes before you can reach a salmon 
you must play to gaff a half-dozen or more sea-trout, varying in 
weight from one to five pounds. That a five-pound trout can be an 
annoyance, and a serious one at that, isn’t readily comprehended. You 
can’t hurry a large trout, but must play and tire him out. Occasion- 
ally your man from a tree-top will tell you just where a fine salmon is 
lying, and, perhaps, that he started for the fly and missed it at your 
last cast. The next cast, a sea-trout, which is quicker than a salmon, 
snatches your fly the moment it strikes the water, and in the next 
few minutes flounders all over the pool, putting an effectual stop 
to salmon-fishing. Now is the time for self-control—for quietly 


Salmon - Fishing. 435 


lighting a cigar and strolling back to camp. Sometimes an irasci- 
ble angler seizes the trout the moment he is off the hook and hurls 
him vindictively against the cliff. 

This same abused sea-trout, however, when broiled before the 
fire in an open wire broiler, with a bit of salt pork clamped upon him, 
or rolled in buttered and wetted papers, and roasted under the 
embers, is preferable to salmon, and is more often eaten by the 
Gaspé anglers. The sea-trout and the common brook-trout, Sa/mo 
fontinals, are taken side by side in the same pools; and so great is 
the apparent dissimilarity, that it seems impossible that they are one 
and the same species, the sea-trout merely being changed by his trip 
to sea, as some naturalists assert. The spots on the brook-trout are 
much more clearly defined, and have the light color upon their edges, 
while the markings of the sea-trout seem not to be distinct spots so 
much as irregular markings akin to those of the mackerel. This is 
as it appears to us who are not naturalists. 

It is notable that although the three Gaspé rivers flow into the 
same bay, and for long distances within a few miles of each other, yet 
the fish are so different as to be readily distinguished one from 
another by the natives. The fish run up earliest in the York, and 
those taken even in the lowest pools are of larger size than those of 
the other streams. Of course, those that are strong enough to get to 
the upper pools early in the season before the river has run down are 
extremely large. The last runs of fish in the York are perhaps a 
trifle smaller nee the general average of the St. John, where the 
early and late runs are of more neva the same average size. So 
the fish of the Tay, in Scotland, are a month earlier than those of the 
Tweed, and presumably in this case because the snow gets out of the 
former much the sooner. The fish of the St. John are slightly shorter 
and fuller than those of the York, resembling more nearly the Sa/mo 
guinnat of California. A few seasons since, the St. John was so 
jammed with the logs of a broken-up lumber raft that the fish were 
blocked out of it, and that year its peculiar fish were taken in the 
York. The next year, the St. John was clear, and its fish went back 
to it. A few seasons later grilse and young salmon were taken in 
the York which slightly resembled the St. John fish. The parent 
fish returned to their own stream. Their offspring, which were 
hatched in the York, remained in that river. 


436 Salmon - Fishing. 


d ' so-called nightingales are singing con- 


| 
t 


# extreme northern of the three rivers, the 


oy, tinually, commencing at three a. M., at 
‘ the first gray of the morning. ‘These 
‘i birds are probably a kind of sparrow, and 

by no means true nightingales ;* but so 
sad and sweet were their plaintive notes, that by a sort 
of fascination we would lie awake to listen, at the ex- 
pense of some hours of needed sleep. During two sea- 
sons upon the other two rivers, only a few miles distant, 
not one was heard. After some practice in imitating them, we 
thought the following musical notation gave a very good idea of 
the song, which varied slightly with different birds, and at different 
times with the same bird. Between each double bar is a single song. 
Numbers 1 and 2 are different songs of one bird, and Numbers 


3 and 4 are songs of another bird. 


Andanie. * (The white-throated sparrow (/77/- 
eo 2 : , : gilla albicolis, Wilson). During spring- 
hke days in December, while hunting 
Bob White in the South, I have often 
heard the soft, melancholy whistle of this 
little songster, recalling to me, with “a 
feeling of sadness and longing,” the 
blessed solitudes and the summer scents 
of the Northern woods.] —Eprror. 


Salmon -Fishing. 437 


The terms of lease of a Canada salmon-stream require the lessee 
to maintain a guardian upon the river at his own expense. A com- 
fortable log-house of a single room is usually built just below the 
first pools, and the guardian occupies it during the few months of the 
angling and spawning season. This expense is quite light, some- 
times only a hundred dollars in gold. In addition, the Government 
appoints and pays overseers, who are assigned to special districts, 
and are expected rigidly to enforce the law regulating the net fishing 
in the tidal part of the rivers, and particularly to see that the nets are 
taken up over Sunday. The Gaspé rivers flow through so wild and 
inaccessible a country that it is impossible for poachers to reach the 
pools and carry away fish in large quantities except in canoes, which 
must pass the guardian’s house. 

If the Government would offer a bounty for every sheldrake 
killed, it would greatly aid in keeping the streams better stocked. 
In the stomach of a young sheldrake will be found sometimes six or 
more fary, as the young of salmon are called. When we consider 
the numbers of broods raised each year on a stream, and that both 
young and old are gormandizing parr all day long, we see that thou- 
sands upon thousands of fish are yearly lost in this way alone. 
These little parr, by the way, often bite at the fly, which is so large 
for them that they can only grasp some of its feathers, and hang on 
so well that you throw them several yards as you withdraw to make 
a fresh cast. The finger-marks or bars identify them at a glance. 

One evening, while on the Dartmouth, we were surprised by a 
visit from the guardian and the overseer, who came to dine and 
spend the night with us. They bragged a little of a big fish the 
overseer had captured in an unaccountably short time. Upon exam- 
ining the tackle, we found that the line practically ended at the reel, 
where it joined a worthless cord, and that even this apology for a 
line had not been wetted. The rod was a shaky affair, that couldn’t 
possibly kill a lively five-pound trout. The hook was covered thickly 
with rust. In their canoe we found a fish of over thirty pounds. One 
eye was covered with an opaque substance which had grown over it 
on the line of an old net scar. The other eye had across it a recent 
cut, which had totally destroyed its sight. The fish was then totally 
blind, and in all likelihood had broken out of a net a few nights 
before. These cunning jokers had made a sharp and well-defined 

28A 


438 Salmon -Fishing. 


RIVER CRAFT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE. 


cut in the jaw where fish are usually hooked, and they had gaffed him 
as he lay unable to see the approach of the canoe. We were glad that 
they had thus saved the fish from a lingering death, sooner or later, 
by starvation ; but raising a blind fish to a fly, and killing him with a 
rickety bait rod and worthless line, was too much for our credulity. 
We never informed them that we had seen through their little fish- 
story, and presume that they had many a laugh at having made 
“States” men believe that blind salmon could be taken with a fly. 
Wednesday, July 15th, found the usually quiet and sleepy little 
settlement of Gaspé in great commotion. Some people were out on 
the house-tops with spy-glasses, and others rushing down to the 
wharf, where a goodly number had already collected. Going to 
the upper rooms of the Gaspé Hotel, to which we had just come 
from the Dartmouth, we saw a beautiful yacht coming rapidly 


Salmon -Fishing. 439 


up the Basin under full sail. Soon she was abreast the wharf, 
giving all a view of her exquisite proportions, and, passing slowly 
up where the York merges itself in the waters of the Bay, grace- 
fully swung into position and dropped anchor. She was the 
“Palmer,” well known in both this country and Europe for her 
victory over the “Cambria,” and famous as well for being the winner 
of numerous other races. Soon we received a call from her owner, 
Mr. Rutherfurd Stuyvesant, who was to have the York the rest of 
the season. A little later we met the rest of his party, and were 
invited to pass the evening on board the yacht. The ladies had 


Ss 


braved a ten days’ voyage from New York, and part of it in very 
rough weather, off what sailors 
call the ‘nastiest of coasts,” and 


were to brave the mosquitoes and 
black flies as well,—hoping to 
rival the Countess Dufferin, who 
had a few weeks before thrown a 
fly, hooked and played to gaff a 
large fish upon the St. John. 

We returned home by the ‘‘Se- 
cret,” leisurely stopping at various 
points, as our fancy dictated. While 
at a certain place, the steamer 


THE COUNTESS OF DUFFERIN POOL, ST. JOHN RIVER, 


440 Salmon -Fishing. 


touched with the mail, and was to remain two hours. Could the 
mail be opened at once, and’ we receive our letters, we might wish 
to hurry,on by that very steamer. We therefore brought all our 
forces to bear upon the obdurate postmaster, to induce him to open 
the small pouch with mail for his office, and give us our letters at 
once while the steamer was still at the landing. His constant 
reply was: “It cawnt be done. Government business cawnt be 
hurried. The mail is too lawge, too lawge.” 

When the steamer arrived, he was the first to board her. He 
chatted consequentially with the officers for more than an hour. 
They were all on our side, and tried apparently to shake him off. 
Finally, with the little pouch (which he wouldn’t intrust to his clerk 
—also on our side) under his arm, he slowly and with the firm, 
determined tread of a militia captain on training-day, moved off 
toward the post-office. Fifteen minutes would have sufficed to 
distribute the mail; but not until the steamer’s last whistle blew did 
he put the letters into the boxes. He reckoned without his host, 
however ; for a friend was quietly watching, and in an instant took 
our letters and started for the steamer at full run, yelling at the top 
of his voice. Good old Captain Davison just then remembered that 
he had forgotten something, and took time enough with the steamer’s 


agent to enable us to glance 


oO 
5 


hastily over our letters, and 


ascertain that we could go by 


that steamer. 

Pa 8745-6 Mir Curtis’ vex- 
changed his old river, the St. 
John, for the Dartmouth, in 
order that the former might be 
set aside for the Governor Gen- 
eral. Earl Dufferin having been 
called to England in the sum- 
mer of 1875, it fell to Mr. Cur- 
tis’s lot to have the use of both 
streams, and I accompanied him 
for a few weeks’ recreation. 


To reach our stream from 


Gaspé, we were obliged to take PART OF THE FUN. 


Salmon -Fishing. 4AI 


ourselves and all our luggage across the swollen York by repeated 
trips in a small dug-out, at a place some six miles from its mouth. 
After crossing, our provisions and luggage were taken in large 
boxes mounted upon stout timber sled-runners, this being the only 
conveyance that would stand a nine-mile trip over a slightly widened 
forest trail. We took saddle-horses, but yet found the trip most 
tedious by reason of the “ windfalls” which had to be cut away by 
our canoe-men, who carried axes for the purpose, and by the swamp 
mud through which we frequently had to wade our horses. 

The fishing of 1875 was comparatively a failure, less than twenty 
being killed by three of us during a week on the St. John. A friend 
of mine, Douglass, one day hooked an ugly fish, which played him 
all known pranks, and seemed, in addition, to extemporize a few for 
the occasion. The fish leaped out of water enough to make it excit- 
ing, but not enough to tire himself out. He tried pulling constantly 
backward and forward in quick, short jerks, which is the worst thing a 
fish ever does. This makes the coolest angler nervous and anxious, 
for unless line is upon the instant given, the hook is pulled out, or the 
gut broken. The fish 
came down in view of 
the house, when, com- 
paring the pluck and 
strategy of the fish with 
the skill of our friend, 
we counted the fish a 
trifle ahead. Of course, 
when near either bank, 
the men took care to 
keep on the shore side 
of the fish, so that when 
he suddenly rushed for 


deep water he would not 


EQUAL TO THE EMERGENCY. 


pass under the canoe 
and break loose. In spite, however, of all precautions, the fish made 
a dash to run under, and one of the men gave a quick, powerful 
push on his setting-pole, which unfortunately rested upon a flat, 
slippery rock. The next instant our view was cut off by an immense 
pair of caribou hide boots, which seemed suspended in mid-air. 


442 Salmon -Fishing. 


The fish was just at the canoe, and the greenheart was taking the 
last possible ounce of strain. The line could not run out fast enough 
to relieve the rod, and we awaited its snapping. Equal to the emer- 
gency, Douglass, remembering an old trick of Curtis's, threw the 
rod behind him, and with reel end in the water and the tip ring rest- 
ing on the edge of the canoe, the line ran safely and swiftly out. 
Douglass then tired and killed his fish, which weighed fifteen pounds 
—about the average of the St. John fish. 

The non-angling reader by this time surmises that the only way 
to bring a salmon to the gaff is to tire him, by keeping a constant 
steady strain upon him, with the shortest practicable line. The 
greatest dexterity and skill of the angler and his men are required 
to keep the canoe always in such a relation to the fish as to make 
this possible. Half your score depends upon the quickness of 
the men, who must, if you are 
on shore, be so near you with 
the canoe that if the fish starts 
down a rapid, they can take you 
in upon the instant, and follow 
him. How patiently would our 
faithful fellows sit on the cross- 
bar of the canoe, and only now 
and then, when the flies and 
mosquitoes were unusually trou- 
blesome, break silence with “I 
don't care if I do take a little o’ 
yer fly-zle.” 

To give the general reader 
an idea of the way in which anglers make up their scores for dis- 


“A LITTLE O° YER FLY-ILE.” 


tribution among their friends, we give an old one, which still stands 
among the best made in America: 


F. Curtis’s Score of Salmon-Fishing, York River, Lower Canada, for one evening and 
the following day, 1871. 


TWO HOURS, THURSDAY EVENING, JULY 6. 


Tebishy 1S. pounds: weight) 4) -0 es | - ll sunen en me melvem (OGkansco tts 
ene 22 x & Ee mS. Gen Be tone ar Gln ADMIN O Hosa 

I 25 < B “Robin. 

I 26 é ‘ “Silver Doctor. 


Salmon -Fishing. 443 


FRIDAY, JULY 7. 


THISheesAmepoundsi weight eee een Qe dy, Curtis: 
mz By es s¢ 5 Eee tr te | Curtis: 
ig (US 736) fe . Se epeeemee os Pan es RODIN: 
ie eee oT o Se eae Ge tcs ite vo ote we me a) Dy ole 
i OS € Shed Sleepers tf Robin. 
Tai 22/2 $ “ Se eh) le Gn SILVer )OCtores 
Tec me 2 as ee ee ee me Silvers) OCtOn: 
Te 23 “ Ss ae 2 a See Se RODIN: 
pt 26 oe . bls ys (> Noe Gch eee te ca GENO Dine 


Total weight for both days, 326 pounds. ‘Thursday’s average, 22 3-4 pounds. 
Friday’s average, 26 1-9 pounds each, and gross weight 235 pounds. Whole average, 
25 1-13 pounds. 

Sunday is the only day in camp when all are sure to be at home 
for an early dinner and in condition to enjoy and appreciate a good 
one. On week-days, the cook, who never leaves camp, does not serve 
dinner until half-past seven p. M., so as to give all time to return 
from the pools, which are often a few miles distant. If one gets a 
sulking fish late in the afternoon, he may be detained until long 
after the dinner-hour, and it is by no means a very rare occurrence 
to have a fish gaffed by the light of a birch-bark torch. 

Canada fishing-laws forbid throwing a fly 
Saturday evening after six o'clock, but of course 


must allow killing a fish previously hooked. On 


Sunday, all are somewhat rested, and appetites 


are always keener after the day’s rest which fol- 


lows excessively hard work out-of-doors. 

On Sunday, July 4th, 1875, Mr. Reynolds, 
sent word that with three friends he would come 
over and take dinner with us on our glorious 
Fourth. As his name is a synonym for hos- 
pitality, we were quite anxious to show no short- 
comings ourselves in that direction. Our _ six 
men and the cook were assisted by Curtis him- 
self, who undertook the unheard-of thing of 
making a loaf of cake on a salmon-stream. How 
he succeeded is best told by his own letter to 
his sister, who had given him the cake recipe: 


“T used every available dish in camp — 


spilled the flour all over my clothes and the ee eee 


444 Salmon -fishing. 


floor, and then rubbed it well in with butter, of which latter I melted 
one mess too much and the other too little. Took a vote, and found 
a majority of one for stirring it with the sun. Think, after all, I stirred 
it the wrong way; and certainly put in too much egg-shell to make it 
settle well, for all the plums, currants, citron, etc., nearly settled 
through the bottom of the small wash-bowl in which I baked it, 
while some large lumps of sugar failed to get crushed at all. The 
cake was, however, quite passable. To be sure, I forgot to butter 
the dish, and had to dig the cake out in small pieces and glue them 
together; but that was a mere trifle, and my success was greater than 
could be reasonably expected from so doughty a matter. The cow 
which I had driven up from the settlement and put in our old and 
now unused snow-house, so as fo keep her, came to grief by breaking 
her leg on her way down the steep rocky river-bank to get water.” 

Our admirable courier came up from the Basin early in the morn- 
ing with a clean pocket-handkerchief full of lettuce leaves, the size of a 
silver dollar, which he had procured from the minister’s wife, who had 
raised under a cold frame the only lettuce in the settlement. Coffin 
complained bitterly of the imposition of the lobster-dealer, who, learn- 
ing that his purchase was for ‘‘ States” men, charged him ten cents each 
for lobsters of about five pounds weight, while he sold them commonly 
to the packer opposite Gaspé for fifty cents a hundred, large and 
small as they run. So plentiful are lobsters around Gaspé Basin that 
a few moments suffice to get a basketful hooked up with a peculiar 
sort of gaff made expressly for the purpose. 

A heavy shower overtook our friends between the two rivers. 
They had, in honor of the special occasion of a Fourth of July dinner 
with their American friends, dressed themselves in gorgeous apparel 
of white flannel. What with the rain which had soaked them and 
beautifully distributed the usual face dressing of tar and sweet oil 
over large geographical surfaces, the stains of tree-drippings and the 
wadings through the marsh at the end of the lake, they presented a 
sorry appearance. Nothing could induce them to remain and dine 
in such plight, and so after a little rest and a modest lunch of crackers 
and cheese, they left us. Our bill of fare, which in accordance with 
camp custom we had written on bark, was quite elaborate. 

On Thursday, we received from our friend Reynolds a kind 
invitation to occupy the York River for a week. Curtis and 


Salmon -Fish Neg. 


I accepted, Douglass going off by steamer to 
take a fortnight upon the Matapediac. We packed 
luggage in long rubber army-bags, and slung them 
across the back of an apology for a horse sent 
up from Gaspé, and went directly over the moun- 
tains to House No. 1, where we found 
canoes and extra men 
awaiting us, and then 
pushed directly for the 


445 


Narrows. 


“FIFTY CENTS A HUNDRED.” 


446 Salmon - Fishing. 


In lifting one of our canoes 
over a slight fall, we swung her 
around and half filled her with 


water, soaking our blankets, 
boxes of bread and crackers, as 
well as sweetening the men’s 
black tea with brown sugar ¢7 
MASSE. 

Just below the Narrows 
canoes cannot be used, but the 
fishing must be done while 


standing and wading in from 


one to two and a half feet of 


FALLS: AT THE NARROWS OF YORK RIVER. 


water. Rubber wading-stock- 
ings are worn, with very large canvas shoes over them, the soles 
being studded with soft metal nails to prevent slipping upon the 
rocks. In a moment of excitement, while following a fish, one fre- 
quently gets in over the tops of his stockings, and the subsequent 
carrying of a few gallons of water in these for-the-time rubber- 
bottles is neither comfortable nor easy. Curtis improves upon the 
stockings by a pair of boots and trowsers, such as are used by the 
Baptist clergy, and which permit wading above the waist. An- 
other of his improvements is a vertically adjustable piano-stool 
arrangement in his canoe, which, while voyaging, lets one down 
near the bottom 
to keep the cen- 
ter of gravity low 
and prevent cap- 


sizing, and which 
when casting can 
be turned up for a 
high seat. This, 


of course, is only 
to be used as last 
indicated when 
one is lame or 


very much  in- 
clined to laziness. 


Me Bae OPEN Ss 
ONE WAY FISH ARE LOST. 


Salon - Fishing. 447 


At the pools, some distance below the Narrows, are found num- 
bers of fallen trees, projecting nearly at right angles to the low river- 
banks. These trees are the occasion, to nearly all anglers, of the 
loss of a few fish. Poling rapidly under them, while intent upon a 
running fish, they find their elevated rod within a few inches of the 
obstruction. On the instant, the rod is thrown forward, and this 
gives slack line to the fish and enables him to free himself. A second 
and too late thought tells him, what every one of course knows, that 
a line from a given point before him on the water to the top of his 
rod, when held upright, is precisely the same as from the same given 
point to the top of his rod when it is dropped horizontally in the 
same vertical plane. Nine times out of ten an inexperienced angler 
forgets this, and does not quickly throw his rod to the center of the 
river, as shown in the sketch, and thus preserve his rod and keep a 
uniform strain upon his fish. 

The old log-house at the Narrows is replete with pleasant remin- 
iscences. On the pine doors, cupboards, and window-casings are 
scores and sketches illustrating amusing incidents of life upon a 
salmon-stream. Sadly we note the names of one or two who, alas! 
can never gladden us again with their presence. 

Higgs’s well-known copy of Bagsters first edition of ‘“ Izaak 
Walton” is bound in wood from the door of Cotton’s fishing-house, 
“taken off by Mr. Higgs, near the lock, where he was sure Old Izaak 
must have touched it.’ Following out somewhat this conceit, we 
made our sketches and notes upon the soft bark of some of the old 
birches that overlooked our quarters. 


THE RISE. FROM THE PAINTING BY WALTER M. BRACKETT. 


448 


SUM IMen SD) Iv SYS). 


iBY=  HERCACNIG DSi By Nae Oia 


O the lover of rod and reel, the striped bass, or rock-fish, as he 
is called south of Philadelphia, is the most important of all our 
sea fish. His habitat is so extended and his stay with us so 

constant; he is so eagerly sought for by anglers of all classes 
and conditions of life; he affords such sport in the various stages of 
his growth, from the puny half-pounder found almost everywhere on 
our Atlantic coast, to the enormous ‘ green-head” who makes his 
home in the break of the surf; he brings into play such a variety of 
tackle, from the pin-hook of the urchin fishing from the city docks, to 
the rods and reels of the crack bass-fisherman,—that he well merits 
the title which is sometimes bestowed on him of the game fish far 
excellence of the sea. 

A bright August morning found the writer, in company with a 
member of the Cuttyhunk Club, steaming down the bay from New 
Bedford, bound for a trip to the Elizabeth Islands and Martha’s 
Vineyard, and for a bout with the large bass which frequent the 
rocky shores of those favored regions. 

Arriving at the mouth of the harbor, as our little craft steams 
around Clark’s Point and enters Buzzard’s Bay, the whole range of 
the Elizabeth Islands comes into full view, and we find ourselves 
trying to repeat the old verse by which our ancestors remembered 
their uncouth Indian names: 


“ Naushon, Nonamesset, 
Uncatema and Wepecket, 
Nashawena, Pasquinese, 
Cuttyhunk and Penikese.” 


450 Striped Bass. 


There is a mysterious influence at work in these regions which 
seems to gather the sea-fogs and hold them suspended around the 
islands, shutting them in completely, while all about, the atmosphere 
is clear. As we approach the land we observe this phenomenon, and 
are soon lost in its dense vapors. We steam along slowly, our fog- 
whistle shrieking at intervals, and every eye strained forward for 
rocks or vessels which may be in the way, until presently we hear a 


distant fog-horn answering us, and following it we find ourselves 
among a fleet of sword-fishermen anchored for the night in Cutty- 
hunk Bay. There is more music by the steam-whistle with an 


GOSNOLD’S ISLAND, CUTTYHUNK. 


answering shout from the shore, and in a few moments the stroke of 
oars is heard upon the water. A skiff gropes its way toward us 
through the fog, we gather our baggage together, and are landed on 
the shingly beach, where, after a short walk, we find ourselves safe 
under the comfortable roof of the club-house. 

As the tide does not serve until late, we breakfast at the usual 
hour, and, having tested our line and seen that everything is in order, 
with a good supply of spare hooks, we start for a brisk walk over the 
hills, preceded by Perry, our ‘‘chummer,” bearing a basket full of 
lobsters and menhaden for bait. 

Bleak and uninteresting as these hills appear when seen from the 
water, every now and then we come unexpectedly on some little gem 
of picturesque beauty, which is none. the less charming from the 
exceeding plainness of its setting. We hear, too, the abrupt notes 


Striped Bass. 451 


of the upland plover, wildest of all game-birds, as he rises at a safe 
distance and speeds his flight to far-off hills. A little later in the 
season, large flocks of golden plover will stop on 


their way south and make it lively for the grass- 


5 


hoppers, which now rise before us in 
clouds at every step and scatter away 


in uncertain flight be- 
fore the wind. 


THE 


CLUB-HOUSE AN 
STANDS. 


Our brisk walk soon brings us 
to the edge of a little fresh-water 
lake, separated from the sea by a 
narrow shingle beach, where we take a skiff and row 
3 a over water as clear as crystal itself to the landing at the 
other end. The bottom of this lake is covered with a 
growth of aquatic vegetation, which seems as though it might harbor 
sufficient insect life to feed millions of fish; while in the shallows 


water-lilies grow in profusion, their dark-green leaves crowding each 
other on the surface, leaving scant room for the snowy petals to shoot 
up and unfold themselves. Some years ago, the club placed several 
thousand young trout in the lake, but they did not appear to thrive, 
or, rather, they disappeared mysteriously ; whether they escaped 
through some under-ground outlet to the sea, or whether they fur- 
nished food to the enormous eels which inhabit these waters, is a 
question difficult of solution. The lake is now stocked with black 
bass, and the experiment bids fair to succeed. 


452 Striped Bass. 


Arrived at our destination,—a large granite bowlder, known as 
Bass Rock, which stands out some distance from the shore and is 
connected with it by a narrow planking supported on iron rods,—we 
occupy the seat at the end of the jetty while our chummer, standing 
behind us, baits the hook with a lobster-tail, and we cast out toward 
two or three rocks where the waters are swirling with the incoming 
and receding waves. 

The chummer is an important man in his way. He is generally 
a native of the island, and has done much fishing in his life-time and 
seen much more. His office is no sinecure ; besides keeping four or 
five baits peeled ready for use, he breaks up the bodies and claws of 
the lobsters, and chops the head and shoulders of the menhaden into 
small bits, and throws them out upon the water with an odd-looking 
wood-and-tin ladle called a ‘“‘chum-spoon.” Without the chum you 
might catch an occasional straggler, but there is nothing to attract 
the attention of the fish, and it is only by accident, as it were, that 
they happen upon the solitary bait with which you are fishing. 

But stop! that fellow takes hold as though he meant it, and is 
laying his course straight for Newport; we must try and stop him 
short of that. The line whizzes out from the reel, and our thumb 
would be blistered ina moment were it not for the double worsted 
thumb-stall which. protects it. Perry says he’s a twenty-pounder, at 
least, and he feels like it, for the rod is bent to the curve so beautiful 
in the eyes of an angler, and the line is strained to the utmost ten- 
sion. There! he stops and breaks on the surface. How broad his 
tail looks as he lashes the water in impotent wrath! The worst of 
his run is over; reel him in carefully, keeping the killing strain on 
him all the time. He will make two or three more short dashes, and 
then you may lead him as gentle as a kitten to where Perry stands, 
with his gaff-hook, ready to reach down and take him in out of the 
wet. It is a pity to strike the cruel steel into his silvery sides, but it 
would be dangerous to attempt to land him among the rocks in-shore. 

It is true that chumming attracts other less desirable fish. Your 
blue-fish has an insatiable appetite and a keen nose for a free lunch. 
We say this ruefully, as we reel in and put ona fresh hook to replace 
the one just carried away. Egad! that fellow struck like a forty- 
pound bass, and cut the line as clean as though he had carried a pair 
of scissors! What a game fish he is! He fights to the very last, 


Striped Bass. 453 


and only comes in when he fears that the struggle is becoming 
monotonous. 

What’s that—another blue-fish 2? No, his pull is too steady ; it’s 

a bass, surely! This one strikes off in another direction ; he lays his 

course as though he were bound 


for Pasque Island. There, he 
has taken the line around that 
rock ; better to give him 
— slack and risk his 
aN unhooking — him- 
self than have 


the line frayed 
and perhaps 
partedagainst | 
Ge sharp ' 
granite edges. 
Now he’s _ off 
again; handle him 
tenderly: there’s no 
knowing what damage 
that rub may have done 
to the slender line—phew! how cold 
the water is! That wave struck flat 
against the rock which supports the 
seat, and drenched us. 

There is no royal road to this heavy surf-fishing; with all the 
appliances for comfort which experience can suggest, there is a cer- 
tain amount of hard work to be done and exposure to be borne as a 
part of the price of success. Father Neptune is no respecter of per- 
sons, and spatters his royal favors so lavishly and so impartially on 
the just and the unjust that, unless you are a believer in the ‘long- 
shore theory that “salt water never hurts nobody,” and can take a 
thorough soaking philosophically and as a matter of course, you had 
better give up all thought of being a bass-fisherman. It is some- 
what trying to the nerves to have a barrel of salt water dashed unex- 
pectedly in your face, sousing you in an instant from head to foot, 


and at times, when there is a heavy sea’ running, it is dangerous. 
290A 


ON THE ISLAND. 


’ 


454 * Striped Bass. 


Cases are upon record where anglers have been washed from the 
rocks, and have narrowly escaped with their lives. Even on these 
stands it is not always safe, although they are supposed to be above 
high-water mark. Sometimes, during the spring-tides, when the 
wind has lashed the sea into a fury, or a distant storm is lending 
additional force to the breakers, the fisherman will sit securely on his 


ON THE WAY TO THE STANDS. 


perch and see the white waters breaking angrily among the rocks 
under his feet. The tide rises higher, but he gives little heed to it, 
as in such perturbed waters he expects to meet with his greatest suc- 
cess,—perhaps catch the fish which shall make him ‘ high-hook” 
for the year. The caps of the higher waves sweep over the sag of 
the narrow plank which connects him with the shore, while the crests 
of one or two bolder than the rest have lapped his feet with their icy 
tongues; still he continues to cast, encouraged by the taking of one 
or two fish, or by the strike of some fish of unknown size, until 
he is wet to the knees, though the tide cannot be more than three- 
quarters high. An exclamation from his chummer causes him to 
look up, and a sight meets his eye which, for a moment, appalls him 
—an enormous, unbroken roller, stretching the length of the coast, 
and coming on at race-horse speed, followed by two others equally 


Striped Bass. 455 


FISHING FROM THE STANDS. —} Za D> ea Se E 


formidable,—for your big fellows generally travel in threes. Escape 
is impossible, and his only recourse is to hold on tight and take his 
ducking with what equanimity he can command, when, if he be sen- 
sible, he will watch his opportunity and make for the shore, a wetter 
and a wiser man. Seth Green got caught in this way, on this very 
rock from which we are now fishing, and retired drenched to the 
skin, but only for a time; the bass were biting freely, and the “ great 
father of fishes,” procuring a rope, lashed himself to the seat, and, in 
spite of the warnings and remonstrances of his friends, continued his 
sport, with the waves occasionally making a break clear over his 
head, Perry tells us this story in the intervals between chopping 
and chumming, and we notice that the pluck of the old man elicits 
from him an admiration which no amount of piscicultural skill could 
have commanded. : 

Another strike! This fellow betrays himself at the very start, 
for we see the cloven hoof, or rather the forked tail, which denotes 
that pirate of the deep, blue sea — the bluefish, and we bring him to 
gaff as soon as possible, using him rather roughly, for he is seldom 
alone, and his companions in iniquity are apt to cut him loose by 
striking at any bit of bait that may have run up on the line, or even 
at the line itself as it cuts rapidly through the water. 

Perry opens this fish and brings us his paunch to examine ; in it, 
besides many pieces of chum, are three hooks—one of them, with 


456 Striped Bass. 


the bait still on and a bit of the line attached, we identify as our 
property, which he feloniously purloined and converted to his own 
use this morning; the others, of strange make and corroded by the 
strong gastric juices, are evidently much older acquisitions. 

But the bass have ceased biting; our stock of bait is reduced to a 
few shreds and patches, and the inner man calls loudly for repairs, so 
our chummer starts on ahead with the heavy load of fish, while we 
linger for a few minutes at the light-house, built on the rising ground 
between the lake and the sea, to have a chat with the keeper. 

Truly, this is classic ground. Lying almost within a stone’s- 
throw of us, snugly nestled in the bosom of the black-bass pond, is 
the little island called after Bartholomew Gosnold, that mighty navi- 
gator whose name has come down to us in a blaze of posthumous 
glory as the discoverer of Cape Cod. 

In the year 1602, eighteen years before the founding of the 
Plymouth colony, Gosnold built a store-house and began a fort on 
this islet and did some trading with the Indians. That he had but 
little faith in their friendliness is evidenced by his building his strong- 
hold on this island within an island, and in fact history gives the 
aboriginal natives of Cuttyhunk but a sorry character as neighbors. 
Dr. Belknap visited the island in 1797, and discovered what he sup- 
posed to be the remains of the cellar of, Gosnold’s store-house, where- 
upon a later historian breaks forth in this wise: “It is a vestige 
of the first work performed by Europeans on the New England 
shores. Here they first penetrated the earth; here the first edifice 
was erected. Only two centuries have passed away, and from this 
humble beginning have arisen cities, numerous, large, and fair, in 
which are enjoyed all the refined delights of civilization.” 

The first duty of your chummer, on returning from the stand, is 
to see that the bass are weighed on a pair of scales hanging at the 
corner of the piazza. This is done in the presence of two members 
of the club, to avoid—mistakes, the result being entered on a blank 
slip, which is retained v. itil evening, when the score of each member 
for the whole day is duly entered opposite his name on the records. 
Our score for the morning’s work shows three bass, weighing 
eighteen and one-half, sixteen and one-half, and nine pounds. 
Glancing over the leaves of the record-book, we find some interest- 
ing items, which we copy—premising that the season in each year 


Striped Bass. A457 


lasts but four months, extend- 
ing from the middle of June 
to the middle of October. 
The honorary title of ‘high- 
hook” is conferred on the 
member taking the largest 
fish of the season. 

On the opening day of 
the club in June a great deal 
of sport is sometimes occas- 
ioned by the anxiety of the 
members to wear this cov- 
eted honor; and as the mem- 
ber catching the first fish, 
even if it weigh but four or 
five pounds, is ‘“high-hook” 
and entitled to wear the 
diamond-mounted badge in 
shape of a bass hook which 
accompanies the title until a 
larger fish is taken, it fre- 
quently happens that the title 


and badge will change hands 


three or four times during 


A GOOD CATCH. the day. 
Year. Pee seen High-hook. Largest fish. 
me) 4 o 5 GEOR 4 5 of Mie IN ANemyatele 5 eee pense IDS. 
LOC es Stu ees VV McGronty. 7 Se aka & eae 
TS 5 og of it Gee ADS Mie Wena Valkenburgh See f) Bik uGiT ss 
Wei) o 4 o eye . 5 5 Jel, IDS ietoillavemiiss 6 5 oo 5 6 oo ee) < 
Leon. song). | . Andrew Dougherty - Bers te GON. 
No Seat a m7 OANE se MWe IViCGTOrtys «es meek bee es a4 i: 
nee 5 6 5 BORD 4 o 5 MWR IRANRGpels § 5) o 5 oo a: 


On the following morning we leave our hospitable friends, our des- 
tination being Gay Head. We can see its many-colored cliffs from 
the club-house, across the Vineyard Sound, only eight miles away ; 
but the wind is contrary and the water too rough for the small boat 
at our disposal, so we conclude to return to New Bedford by the 
more tranquil waters of Buzzard’s Bay, and take the steamer thence 


458 Striped Bass. 


to Martha’s Vineyard. We make an early start, and, as the weather 
is fair, get a good view of the island of Pune, or Penikese, and its 
elegant buildings (the Anderson School of Natural History, formerly 
superintended by Professor Agassiz), which the fog had hidden from 
sight when we arrived. Skirting along the coast of Nashawena, 


BACK FROM THE BEACH. 


and giving Quick’s Hole a wide berth on account of its strong cur- 
rents, we came to the island of Pasque, or Pesk, as the natives call 
it, and, rounding its easterly point into Robinson’s Hole, we drop 
anchor in front of the Pasque Island club-house. Some of the mem- 
bers of this club are old friends, and we avail ourselves of a long- 
standing invitation to drop in upon them and see what they are 
doing with the bass. 

Pasque Island does not differ in its general features from Cutty- 
hunk. Here there are the same bleak-looking hills, bare of trees, with 
the exception of a little clump of locusts, named, after the aboriginal 
owner of the island, ‘‘ Wamsutta’s Grove.” Early accounts, which 
represent these islands as covered with a growth of beech and 
cedars, would be incredible, in view of their present cheerless aspect, 
were it not that stumps of those trees are occasionally unearthed at 
the present day. Besides the club-houses, there is but one building 
on the island, and this dates so far back in the dim past that the 
accounts of its origin are but legendary. We should like to pin our 
faith to the story that it was erected by some straggler from Gos- 
nold’s band, which would make it the oldest building in New Eng- 
land; but we fear that this claim rests on the same airy basis, and 
must be placed in the same category, as that which carries the 
old mill at Newport back to the time-of the Norsemen. The club 


Striped Bass. 459 


owns the whoie island, consisting of about one thousand acres, and 
has in its possession the original deed, dated 1667, from the Indian 
sachem Tsowoarum, better known as Wamsutta, conveying Pas- 
cachanest, and another island whose name is illegible—probably a 
little one thrown into the bargain as a make-weight—islands were 
cheap in those days—‘“to Daniel Wilcocks, of the town of Dart- 
mouth, in the jurisdiction of New Plymouth,” for the sum of twelve 
pounds. 

Before bidding our friends adieu and continuing our journey, we 
gather the following statistics from the club records : 


High-hook. 


Largest fish. 


1876 Peter Balen* . 50 Ibs. 
1877 A. F. Higgins 47 oe 
1878 F. O. Herring 60% * 
1879 jee DaBarrette. 51 
1880 W. Dunning 49 “* 
OOM me mcs see Ns EL. PInhips:: (555° 4) a i at os qdboe ue 
OS 2 a ee ema nO assilliv,.© och ast pac) oe gees See ban ure 


In the early accounts of the settlement of New England, the 
striped bass is frequently mentioned, and it seems at times to have 
formed the main food-supply of the forefathers when other sources 
had failed them.+ 

“Thomas Morton, of Clifford's Inn, gent.,” gives a glowing 
description of their abundance in ‘“‘New English Canaan, or New 
Canaan: an abstract of New England, composed in three bookes. 
The Natural Indowments of the Countrie, and What Staple Com- 
modities it Yeeldeth. Printed by Charles Green, 1632.” He writes: 


“The Basse is an excellent Fish, both fresh & salt, one hundred whereof, salted at 
market, have yielded five p. They are so large the head of one will give a good eater 
a dinner, and for daintinesse of diet they excell the Marybones of beefe. There are 
such multitudes that I have seene stopped into the river close adjoining to my howse, 
with a sand at one tide, so many as will loade a ship of one hundred tonnes.” 


A pretty good fish story; it reads like the prospectus of a land 
association—as it probably was. Here is another, antedating it by 
two years, from “ New England’s Plantation; or, A Short and True 


* Clarum et venerabile nomen. 

+ In “A Key into the Language of America; or, an Help to the Language of the 
Natives in that part of America called New England. London: by Roger Williams, 
1643,” the Indian name of the fish is given thus: ‘“ Missuckeke ”— bass. 


460 Striped Bass. 


Description of the Commodities and Discommodities of that Coun- 
trey. Written by a Reuerend Divine (Mr. Higginson), now there 
resident. London, 1630”: 


“Of these fish (the basse) our fishers take many hundreds together, which I have 
seen lying on the shore to my admiration; yea, their nets ordinarily take more than 
they are able to hale to land, and for want of Boats and men they are constrained to 
let a many goe after they have taken them, and yet sometimes they fill two boates at a 
time with them.” 


The famous Captain John Smith, ‘sometime Governor of Virginia 
& Admiral of New England,” wrote in a little book entitled ““Advertise- 
ments for the Inexperienced Planters of New England, or Anywhere ; 
or, The Pathway to Experience to Erect a Plantation. London, 1631:” 


“The seven and thirty passengers, miscarrying twice upon the coast of England, 
came so ill provided they only relyed upon the poore company they found, that had 
lived two yeares by their naked industry and what the country naturally afforded. It 
is true, at first there hath beene taken a thousand Bayses at a draught, and more than 
twelve hogsheads of Herrings in a night.” 


Sturdy John Josselyn, gent., who never hesitated to use a word 
because of its strength, writes, in his ‘‘ Account of Two Voyages to 
New England in 1675”: 


“The Basse is a salt-water fish, too, but most an end (sc) taken in Rivers, where 
they spawn; there hath been three thousand Basse taken at a set. One writes that the 
fat in the bone of a Basse’s head is his brains, which is a lye.” 


In a curious poetical description of the colony, entitled ‘‘ Good 
News from Nevv England, with an exact relation of the First Plant- 
ing that Countrey,” printed in London, 1648, these lines occur : 


“At end of March begins the Spring by Sol’s new elivation, 
Stealing away the Earth’s white robe dropping with sweat’s vexation, 
The Codfish, Holybut, and Basse do sport the rivers in, 

And Allwifes with their crowding sholes in every creek do swim.” 


Truly, our ancestors must have had glorious opportunities for 
sport, though it may be considered doubtful whether those stern- 
visaged men, whose features had grown grim in facing the hard 
realities of their pioneer life,—sickness, starvation, and an ever- 


Striped Bass. 461 
present and treacherous foe,—found time to “go a-angling,” ex- 


cept as a means of warding off famine from their wives and little ones. 
There is something very pathetic in the accounts of their fishing 


ME 
ANKRMK RY 
PAK Ke 


STRIPED BASS OR ROCK FISH. (LABRAX LINEATUS.) 


trips as given in Bradford’s “ History of Plymouth Plantation.” It pre- 
sents the reverse of the rose-colored pictures of Morton and Higginson: 


“They haveing but one boat left, and she not well fitted, they were divided into 
severall small companies, six or seven to a gangg or company, and so wente out with a 
nett they had bought to take bass & such like fish, by course, every company knowing 
their turne. No sooner was ye boate discharged of what she brought, but ye next 
company tooke her and wente out with her. Neither did they returne till they had 
caught something, though it were five or six days before, for they knew there was noth- 
ing at home, and to goe home emptie would be a great discouragemente to ye rest.” 


At New Bedford, we take the steamer for Oak Bluffs, and sail 
down across Buzzard’s Bay and through the narrow strait called 
Wood’s Hole, whose troubled waters bear a close resemblance to 
those of Hell Gate. Rare bass-fishing there must be in these cir- 
cling eddies, and we half mature a plan to stop on the way home and 
have a day at them. Emerging from the Hole, into the Vineyard 
Sound, we steam away for the headlands of Martha’s Vineyard, visi- 
ble in the distance, and in due time haul up at the wharf of that 
marvelous city of cottages, and take the stage to commence a tedious 


462 Striped Bass. 


Ma iin 


Hi / ae ais lh lin, 
joe Des CLLAEAUD MEL AUNT TPT er tent HM 


journey the full length of the 
island, some twenty-two miles. 

As the stage route does not 
extend beyond Chilmark, we 
are transferred at Tisbury to a 
buggy, with a bright school-boy 
of some thirteen summers as a 
driver, whom we ply with ques- 
tions as to. the names of local- 
ities we pass on the route. 

We cross some noble trout- 
streams on the way; on one of 
them notices are posted against 
trespassers, the fishing privilege 
being hired by two or three 
gentlemen from Boston. ‘These 
streams look enticing, being full 
of deep holes overshadowed by 


Striped Bass. 463 


scrubby alders—the lurking-place of many a large trout, if 
we may believe our young guide. The trout should be full of 
game and fine-flavored in these streams—pink-fleshed, vigorous 
fellows, such as we find in the tide-water creeks of Long Island 


THE LIGHT-HOUSE AT GAY HEAD. 


and Cape Cod, who take the fly with a rush that sends the heart 
jumping into the throat. 

As we approach Menemsha Bight, the roads are heavy with re- 
cent rains, and the wheels sink deep in the sandy soil. A queer little 
popping sound, apparently coming from under the wagon, excites 
our curiosity; we lean over to ascertain the cause, and find the 
ground covered with myriads of small toads, any one of which could 
sit comfortably on a dime with room to spare. Some of these, get- 
ting caught in the deep rut of the road, struggle feebly to leap over 
the barrier, and failing in the attempt, the wheels pass over them, 
each one exploding under the weight with a faint pop, and_ flat- 
tening out into a grotesque exaggeration of his former self, that 
reminds us of one of the pantomime tricks of the Ravel family. 

It is dark when we reach Gay Head, and as we drive up to the door 
of the keeper's house, which adjoins the light-house, a voice from some 
unknown region cheerily invites us to enter. We look around for 
the owner, but see no one to whom the voice could belong. Over- 
head, long, slanting bars of white-and-red light flash through the 
powerful Fresnel lenses in every direction, looking like bands of 
bright ribbon, cut bias against che darkness of the sky beyond, while 


404 Striped Bass. 


millions of insects dance in the broad rays, holding high carnival in 
the almost midday glare. The mysterious voice repeats the invita- 
tion, and without more ado we gather our baggage together and 
enter a cozy sitting-room, where we proceed to make ourselves very 
much at home. Here we find Mr. Pease, the keeper of the light, 
who has descended from his lantern, and a gentleman from New 
Bedford, who gives but poor encouragement in regard to the fishing. 
He has been here for a week past, and has not caught a solitary bass 
in all that time; but he tells us such soul-stirring yarns of fish caught 
en previous visits, and all told with a modesty which attests their 
truth, that our spirits are restored at once. 

The inhabitants of the town of Gay Head, 
with the exception of the light-keeper’s family, 
are of somewhat mixed blood. They are called 
Gay Head Indians, but their features betoken a 
liberal intercourse with a darker complexioned 
race; there is a flatness of the nose and an 
inclination to curliness in the hair which denote 
anything but an uninterrupted descent from the 
warlike tribe that Bartholomew Gosnold found in 
possession of these islands. The last one among 
them who could build a wigwam died some years ago, and with him 
died this invaluable secret. 


Here there is room for the moralist to make some wise reflections 
on the vanity and evanescénce of all human greatness, and to draw 
the parallel between this people’s present peaceful occupations of 
farming and berry-picking (we even saw a young squaw who was 
engaged in a family as seamstress), and the Puritan-roasting, scalp- 
raising, and other cheerful and innocent diversions which obtained 
among their ancestors. But we confess we would rather go fishing 
than point morals, any day, and our acquaintance with this people is 
confined to the young brave of some twelve summers whom we en- 
gaged in the morning as our henchman, to procure and cut up bait. 

The cliffs at Gay Head are interesting alike to the artist and the 
geologist, and possess still another interest for the angler, who has 
to carry fifty pounds of striped bass up their steep and slippery in- 
cline. They are of clay formation, broken and striated by the wash- 
ings of centuries, and when lighted up by the sun present a brilliantly 


Striped Bass. 465 


variegated appearance, which 
undoubtedly gave the promon- 
tory its name. Black, red, yel- 
low, blue, and white are the 
colors represented, all strongly 
defined, and on a clear day, dis- 
cernible at a great distance. 
Down their steep sides, our feet 


sticking and sliding in the clay, moist with 


the tricklings of hidden springs, we pick 
our way slowly, bearing our rod and gaff-hook ; while 
our little Indian staggers under a basket load of 
chicken-lobsters, purchased of the neighboring fisher- 


men at the extravagant rate of one dollar and fifty 


cents per hundred. 

At the bottom of the cliffs we skirt along the 
beach, stopping now and then to pick up bunches of 
Irish moss, with which the shore is plentifully lined, 
until we come to three or four large granite bowlders lying at the 
edge of the water, and offering such attractions as a resting-place 
that we stop and survey the field to select our fishing-ground. 


ON THE BEACH, 


Across the Vineyard Sound, about eight miles away, and stretch- 
ing out far to the eastward, are Cuttyhunk, Nashawena, and Pasque 
Islands; and about the same distance to the south-westward, the little 
island of No Man’s Land is plainly visible in the clear atmosphere 
—even to the fishermen’s huts with which it is studded. It is a 

30 


466 Striped Bass. 


notable place for large bass, and wonderful stories are told of the 
catches made there—how, on one occasion, when the fish were in a 
particularly good humor, three rods caught twelve hundred and 
seventy-five pounds of striped bass in a day and a half. 

Looking out seaward some thirty or forty yards, we see three 
rocks heavily fringed with sea-weed, which rises and spreads out like 
tentacles with the swell of the incoming tide, and clings to the parent 
rocks like a wet bathing-dress as the water recedes and leaves them 
bare. We like the appearance of this spot—it looks as though it 
might be the prowling-ground of large fish; and we adjust our tackle 
rapidly and commence the assault. 

Into the triangle formed by these rocks we cast our bait again 
and again, while our attendant crushes the bodies and claws of the 
lobsters into a pulp beneath his heel, and throws handfuls of the mess 
out as far as his strength will allow. He appears to have inherited 
some of the taciturnity of his red ancestors, for not a superfluous 
word do we get out of him all day long; all efforts to lead him into 
conversation are met by monosyllabic answers, so that, after many 
discouraging attempts, we imitate his reticence and are surprised to 
find with how few words we can get along. A nod of the head 
toward the sea brings him into 
immediate action, and he com- 
mences to throw out chum vig- 
orously, like a skillfully made 
automaton ; a nod of another sig- 
nificance, and he brings three or 
four fresh baits and deposits them 
silently on the rock at our feet. 

Thus we fish faithfully all the morning, buoyed up by the hope 
which ‘springs eternal” in the breast of the angler, but without 
other encouragement of any kind. Many nibblers visit our bait and 
pick it into shreds, requiring constant attention to keep the hook 
covered, while rock-crabs cling to it viciously as we reel in, and drop 
off just as we are about to lay violent hands on them. 

The flood-tide, which had commenced to make when we arrived, 
is now running fast, and has risen so as to cover the rocks on our 
fishing- ground, leaving visible the dark masses of sea-weed which 
float to the surface by its air-cells, and wave mysteriously to and 


Striped Bass. 467 


FROM THE DEPTHS (BASKET FISH—ASTROPHYTON), 


fro. The surf has risen with the tide, the water is somewhat turbid 
and filled with small floating particles of kelp or sea-salad, which 
attach themselves to the line and cause it to look, when straightened 
out, like a miniature clothes-line. Occasionally, a wave will dash up 
against the shelving rock on which we stand, and, breaking into fine 
spray, sprinkle us liberally, and as salt water dries but slowly, we are 
gradually, but none the less surely, drenched to the skin. 

Suddenly, without the slightest indication of the presence of 
game-fish, our line straightens out, we strike quick and hard to 
fix the hook well in, the reel revolves with fearful rapidity and the 
taut line cuts through the waves like a knife, as a large bass dashes 
away in his first mad run, fear and rage lending him a strength 
apparently much beyond his weight. Of course, under the circum- 
stances, the strain on the fish is graduated, but the weight of line 
alone which he has to draw through the water would be enough to 
exhaust even a fifty-pounder, and he soon tires sufficiently to enable 
us to turn his head toward land. As we pilot him nearer to the 


468 Striped Bass. 


shore, he acts like a wayward child, making for every rock which 
happens in the way, and as there are many of them, it requires no 
little care to guide him past the danger. Presently, however, the 
steady strain tells on him, his struggles grow weaker, his efforts to 
escape become convulsive and aimless, and we lead him into the 
undertow, where he rests for a moment until a wave catches him and 
rolls him up, apparently dead, on the shelving sand. As he lies 
stranded by the receding water, the hook, which has worked loose in 
his lip, springs back to our feet. Our little Indian sees the danger 
and rushes forward to gaff him, with a whoop suggestive of war-paint 
and feathers; but we push him aside hurriedly—no steel shall mar 
the round and perfect beauty of the glittering sides—and, rushing 
down upon him, regardless of the wetting, we thrust a hand into the 
fish’s mouth and thus bear him safely from the returning waves; then 
we sit down on the rock for a minute, breathless with the exertion, 
our prize lying gasping at our feet, our nerves still quivering with 
excitement, but filled with such a glow of exulting pride as we verily 
believe’ no one but the successful angler ever experiences, and he 
only in the first flush of his hard-won victory. 

But there is no time to gloat over our prey—bass must be taken 
while they are in the humor, and our chummer is already in the field, 
throwing out large handfuls of the uninviting-looking mixture; so 
we adjust a fresh bait and commence casting again, as though noth- 
ing had happened to disturb our serenity, only once in awhile allow- 
ing our eyes to wander to the little hillock of sea-weed and moss 
under which our twenty-five pound beauty lies sheltered from the 
sun and wind. 

Another strike, another game struggle, and we land a mere min- 
now of fifteen pounds. And this is all that we catch; the succeeding 
two hours fail to bring us any encouragement, so we reel in, and 
painfully make our way up the cliffs, bearing our prizes with us. 

We are eager for another day at the bass, but a difficulty presents 
itself; fish are perishable in warm weather, the bass in a less degree 
than many others, but still perishable, and we have no ice, nor is any 
to be purchased nearer than Vineyard Haven—which for our pur- 
pose might as well be in the Arctic regions. But we bethink us that 
we have friends at the Squibnocket Club, some five or six miles away, 
on the south-west corner of the island, and in the afternoon we per- 
suade Mr. Pease to drive us over there. 


Striped Bass. 469 


The comfortable little club-house is built facing and adjacent to 
the water, and after supper, as we sit chatting over a cigar on the 
piazza, we look out upon the wildest water we have as yet seen. The 
shore is exposed to the direct action of the ocean, without any inter- 
vening land to break the force of the sea, and the white breakers fol- 


ALONG SHORE. 


low each other in rapid succession, lashing themselves against the 
rocks into a foamy suds, which looks as though it might be the 
chosen home of large bass—as, indeed, they say it is. 

The following day is almost a repetition of the first—a long, 
profitless morning spent in fruitless casting, a sudden strike when we 
least expect it, and then the catching of three fish within an hour and 
a half. This capricious habit of the bass is very striking at times. 
Sometimes, day after day, they will bite at a certain hour, without 
reference to the height of the tide, and at no other time. Whether it 
is that they have set times to visit different localities, and only arrive 
at the fishing-ground at the appointed hour, or, whether they are 
there all the time and only come to their appetites as the sun indi- 
cates lunch-time, we cannot say. 

Our trip is over, and we pack our things to return home. Stored 
in a box, carefully packed with broken ice, are five bass,—we take 
no account of two blue-fish of eight and ten pounds,—which weigh 
respectively twenty-five, fifteen, twenty-eight, twenty-one, ten pounds. 

30A 


470 Striped Bass. 


MONTAUK LIGHT. 


If the reader should wish to enjoy this noble sport, the better plan 
by far is to purchase a share in one of the great bassing clubs, as at 
their comfortable quarters you can always be certain of bait, skillful 
chummers, and ice to preserve the fish when caught; and, moreover, 
a good meal and a comfortable bed after a hard 
day’s work, or play, as you choose to call it, are 
desiderata not always to be obtained at the coun- 
try tavern where your lines may be cast. But 
should the intention be to fish only occasionally, 
then equally good sport may be had in the summer 
and early autumn months at Montauk Point, Point 
Judith, Newport, Cohasset Narrows, and many places along shore. 

A seventy-two-pounder, caught by a gentle- FE 
man of New York, is probably the heaviest bass 
that has yet been landed with rod and reel; and 
when it is considered that the line used would not 
sustain much more than one-third that amount of 
dead weight, ‘and that every ounce of that sev- 
enty-two pounds was “fighting weight,” some conception may be 
formed of the skill and patience required in its capture. 

Verily there is nothing new under the sun. As I pen these lines 
regarding the capture of large fish with light tackle, there comes to 
mind the memory of a screed written in the long, long ago, and I step 
to the book-shelf, take down the volume, and transcribe for your 


Striped Bass. 


delectation, O reader, the quaint 
advice given by that  sainted 
patroness of the angle, Dame 
Juliana 
hundred years ago. 


Berners, nearly four 
There is a 
flavor of mold about the fine old 
English, but it contains the sum 
and essence of all scientific ang- 
ling. Here it is, crisp and fresh 
as when it was first written, 
though the hand that penned it 
has long since crumbled into 
dust, and the generation for 
whose ‘“‘dysporte” it was ‘“em- 
pryntyd” by Wynkyn de Worde 
have been casting their flies 
from the further bank of the 


Styx this many a long year: 


tall 


FISHING A. D. 1496. 


(FROM ‘‘ WALTON'S COM- 
PLETE ANGLER.’’) 


“And vf it fortune pou to smyt a gret fish with a small barnavs, thenne 
ye must lede bym in the water and labour hy there tyll be be drounyd and 
overcome; thenne take bym as well as pe can or maye, and curr be waar 
that ye holde not ouer the strengthe of pour lye, and as morche as pe map 
lete bym not come out of your tyne’s ende strevahte from you; but kepe 
bymt cuer under the rodde, and cucrmore holde hym strevabhte, so that pour 
lyne may be susteyne and beere bis lepys and bis plungys wyth the belpe of 


your cropp and of your honde.” 


PORPOUME-SHOOTING. 


7 
Biv @ ECAR ERS) Cem WEAGRe Ds 


ANOE ahoy-oy-oy !” 
‘« Ahoy-oy-oy !” 
‘“Where are you bound ?” 

‘Indian Beach, Grand Menan.” 

“You can’t fetch it, in this wind and sea; better come aboard the 
schooner.” 

The hail came from an outward bound pilot-boat, running down 
the Bay of Fundy, close-reefed, in a strong breeze, and was addressed 
to the writer and his Indian friend Sebatis, who were crossing the bay 
in a canoe bound to Indian Beach, Grand Menan, on a porpoise- 
shooting expedition. 

‘“ Sebatis, the men in the schooner want to take us aboard; they 
say that there is too much wind and sea to fetch Indian Beach with 
the canoe.” 

‘No danger; canoe best; we fetch ‘im Indian Beach all safe— 
spose we go on pilot-boat, sartin very sea-sick.” 

On hearing Sebatis’s remark, a hearty laugh and a cheer came 
from the crew of the pilot-boat; thanking them for their kind inten- 
tions, we bore away for our destination. 

To one unaccustomed to the sea-worthy qualities of a birch canoe 
properly handled, the situation would have seemed a perilous one, 
for the sea was running high, and the breeze stiffening. 

“Look out, Sebatis !” I exclaimed, involuntarily, as I was drenched 
by the spray from a sea breaking almost aboard of us. 

“All right! no danger ’tall; only little wet.” 

“Tm afraid we'll be swamped, Sebatis.” 


474 Porpotse- Shooting. 


‘No chance swamp ‘im; I watch canoe so close, you see, water 
can’t come ‘board ’tall.” 

I began to think that our situation very much resembled that of 
the old Indian who, for lack of a sail, put up a big bush in the bow of 
his canoe ; 


all went well with him until the wind increased to a gale 
and he could not get forward to reef his bush. So he sat like a statue, 
steering with his paddle, and repeating, in a mournful monotone : 
‘©Too much bush, too much bush, for little canoe.” 
With this in my mind, I said to Sebatis: 


CAPE BLOMIDON, BAY OF FUNDY. 


“Don’t you think that we are carrying too much sail? A heavy 
squall might upset us.” 

“Well, you see,” he replied, “no chance reef ’im now, wind so 
heavy; but I take care, got sheet in my hand, s’pose squall, then I 
let go pretty quick.” 

He had the sheet in his hand, as he said, and was steering with 
the paddle in the other, whale-boat fashion. So I took heart of 
grace and troubled myself no more about the matter. 

“You hear ‘im wolves?” said Sebatis, pointing to a low-lying 
group of rocky islands that have crushed many a noble ship with 
their ugly fangs; “make good deal noise” (alluding to the surf) ; 
“wind shift now—fair all way Indian Beach.” 


Porpotse - Shooting. 475 


CAPE SPLIT, BAY OF FUNDY. 


And away we bounded, the canoe riding the waves like a duck, 
and so buoyantly that at times six feet of her length were out of 
water. 

After we had sailed for another hour: 

“Only a little ways now,” said Sebatis. ‘Just ’round big head- 
land, then no wind, only sea pretty heavy.” 

In a few moments, we doubled the headland safely, and Sebatis, 
unstepping the mast and stowing the sail in the bottom of the canoe, 
resumed his paddle. 


476 Porpotse - Shooting. 


On viewing our prospect for landing, I must confess to more 
anxiety than I had hitherto experienced. True, we were out of the 
wind, but the night was shutting down apace, and a transient gleam 
from the storm-rent clouds disclosed the sea rolling in on the beach 
in such a manner as to make our landing, in the treacherous light of 


the departing day, a dangerous one. 


SEBATIS BEACHING THE CANOE. 


‘“ Now, then,” exclaimed Sebatis, ‘‘s’pose you jump overboard, 
and run right up the beach, when I give the word. I'll beach the 
canoe all ‘lone myself.” 

He was paddling with might and main, and we were successfully 
riding the waves within one hundred yards of the beach. 

‘Now then, jump quick, and run!” he cried, as a receding wave 
left us in a swashing undertow. 

I was overboard in an instant, and struggled out of the reach of 
the sea. After holding the canoe steady while I jumped, Sebatis 
followed, and, partly dragging and partly carrying the canoe, 
beached her high and dry. 

We were now on Indian Beach, where the Indians camp for the 
summer and autumn porpoise-shooting. The beach extends for 
about half a mile, between two projecting headlands, and the camps, 


Porpotse - Shooting. A477 


THE CAMP AT INDIAN BEACH. 


constructed of drift-wood, are placed just above high-water mark, 
and under the shelter of the overhanging cliffs. 

Drenched with salt water, and as hungry as wolves, we unpacked 
the canoe and carried our “ possibles” to Sebatis’s camp. 

Porpoise-shooting affords to the Indians of the Passamaquoddy 
tribe their principal means of support. It is practiced at all seasons 
of the year, but the fish killed in the winter are the fattest and give 
the largest quantities of oil. The largest-sized porpoises measure 
about seven feet in length, about the girth five feet, weigh three 
hundred pounds and upward, and yield from six to seven gallons of 
oil. The blubber is about one and one-half inches thick in summer, 
and two inches thick in winter, at which time the creature is in its 
best condition. The blubber from a large porpoise weighs about 
one hundred pounds. The Indians try out the oil in a very primitive 
manner, and with rude but picturesque appliances. The blubber 
is stripped off, then cut into small pieces, which are placed in huge 
iron pots and melted over a fire. All along the beach were placed, 
at intervals, curious structures, consisting of two upright pieces of 
wood surmounted by a cross-piece, from which the pots were hung 
by chains. Under this cross-piece large stones were piled in a semi- 
circle, inside of which a fire was made that was allowed to burn 
fiercely until the stones were at a white heat. The fire was then 


478 Porpoise - Shooting. 


scattered, and the pots containing the blubber were placed over the 
stones and just enough fire kept under them to insure the melting 
of the blubber. When melted, the oil was skimmed off into other 
receptacles, then poured into tin cans of about five gallons capacity, 
and the process was complete. If the oil is pure, it readily brings 
ninety cents per gallon, but if adulterated with seal, or any other 
inferior oil, its value is reduced to sixty-five cents per gallon. A 
very superior oil is obtained from the jaw of the porpoise. The jaws 
are hung up in the sun, and the 
oil, as it drips, is caught in cans 
placed for that purpose. The 
quantity of oil thus procured is 
small, being only about half of a 
pint from each jaw, but a large 
price is paid for it by .watch- 
makers and others requiring a 
fine lubricator. The oil from 
the blubber gives a very good 
light, and was for a long time 
used in all the light-houses on 
the coast. It is also a capital 
oil for lubricating machinery, as 
it never gets sticky, and is un- 
affected by cold weather. When 
pure, it has no offensive smell, 
é é and I know of no oil equal to it 
TRYING OUT BLUBBER. for those who are compelled to 


use their eyes at night. The light is very soft, and, when used 
in a German student’s lamp, one can work by it almost as com- 
fortably as by daylight. 

If industrious, and favored with ordinary success, an Indian can 
kill from one hundred and fifty to two hundred porpoises in a year, 
and each porpoise will probably average three gallons of oil, which 
is always in demand. But, unfortunately, the poor Indians are not 
industrious, or only so by fits and starts, or as necessity compels 
them. When they accumulate fifteen or twenty gallons of oil, they 
take it to Eastport, Maine, to market; and so, much time is lost in 
loitering about the towns, and in going to and returning from the 


Porpotse - Shooting. A79 


SPEARING A PORPOISE. 


hunting-grounds. Moreover, there are always two Indians to each 
canoe, and the proceeds of the hunt have to be divided. The flesh 
of the porpoise, when cooked, tastes like fresh pork, and at one time 
was much used. The Indians still eat it, and it is also in request 
by the fishermen on the coast, who readily exchange fresh fish for 
“porpus” meat with the Indians. 

Almost unknown to the outside world, here is an industry followed 
by these poor Indians, year after year, éalling in its pursuit for more 
bravery, skill, and endurance than perhaps any other occupation. | 
could not help feeling a melancholy interest in them and their pursuits 
as I sat on the beach at sunrise, watching them embark on their 
perilous work. For these poor creatures, ‘‘ porpusin’” possessed an 
all-absorbing interest, and the chances of success, state of weather, 
and price obtainable for the oil were matters of every-day discussion. 

In the morning, all the women and children turned out to see the 
canoes go off, and if during the day a storm came up, or the canoes 
were unusually late in returning, many anxious eyes would be turned 
seaward. They were always pleasant and good-natured with one 
another, and generally returned from the hunt about three o'clock 
in the afternoon. After dinner, one would have thought that, tired 


480 Porpovse - Shooting. 


out with their exertions, they would have sought repose; but they 
did not seem to need it, and the rest of the day until sundown would 
be spent in friendly games upon the beach. 

To make a successful porpoise-hunter requires five or six years 
of constant practice. Boys, ten or twelve years of age, are taken 
out in the canoes by the men, and thus early trained in the 
pursuit of that which is to form their main support in after years. 
Porpoise-shooting is followed at all seasons and in all kinds of 
weather—in the summer sea, in the boisterous autumn gales, and 
in the dreadful icy seas of midwinter. In a calm summer day, the 
porpoise can be heard blowing for a long distance. The Indians, 
guided by the sound long before they can see the game, paddle 
rapidly in the direction from which the sound comes, and rarely fail 
to secure the fish. They use long smooth-bored guns, loaded with 
a handful of powder, and a heavy charge of double B shot. As 
soon as the porpoise is shot, they paddle rapidly up to him and kill 
him with a spear, to prevent his flopping about, and upsetting the 
canoe after they have taken him aboard. The manner of taking 
the porpoise aboard is to insert two fingers of the right hand into 
the blow-hole, take hold of the pectoral fin with the left hand, and 
lift the fish up until at least one-half of his length is above the 
gunwale of the canoe, and then drag him aboard. 

This is comparatively easy to accomplish in smooth water, but 
when the feat is performed in a heavy sea, one can realize the skill 
and daring required. In rough weather, with a high sea running, 
the Indian is compelled to ‘stand up in his canoe when he fires, 
otherwise he could not see his game. In such work as this, one 
would suppose that upsets would be unavoidable; but, strange to 
say, they seldom happen,—and only under circumstances where 
the Indian’s skill or foresight is unavailing. When an Indian 
stands up in his canoe, in rough water, he suits himself to every 
motion of his frail craft, and is ever ready to sway his body and 
keep her on an even keel. In this he is ably seconded by his com- 
rade who manages the paddle, and with marvelous dexterity urges the 
canoe forward, checks her, backs her, whirls her completely around, 
or holds her steady as a rock, as the emergency may require. 

Although an old and experienced canoeist, in the matter of shoot- 
ing porpoises from a canoe in a heavy sea, and taking them aboard, 


Porpoise - Shooting. 481 


TAKING A PORPOISE ABOARD. 


. who once 


I often feel inclined to side with my friend Colonel W 
arranged a porpoise-shooting expedition on shares with an Indian 
named Paul. It was the Colonel’s first and, I may add, last experi- 
ence in this kind of shooting, for the Indian, having shot a very large 
porpoise, paddled rapidly up to him, speared him, and was in the 
act of hauling him aboard, when the Colonel recovered his power of 
speech, and excitedly exclaimed : 

“Hold on, Paul! hold on! How much is that porpoise worth ?” 

“How much worth? May be five dollars.” 

“Well, Paul, I'll pay you half, and we wont take the porpoise in.” 

“No,” replied Paul, “I pay yow half; sartin, we take in ’im 
porpus.” 

The Colonel’s appeal was of no avail, as they were surrounded 
by other canoes similarly occupied, and it was a point of honor with 
Paul to take the porpoise aboard, otherwise he might have been 
suspected of cowardice. 

Not unfrequently, as the Indian hastily paddles up to dispatch a 
wounded porpoise with his spear, he sees the terrible dorsal-fin of a 


31 


482 Porpoise - Shooting. 


shark appear, as the monster, attracted by the scent of blood, rushes 
to dispute possession of the prey. 

Although there are well-authenticated cases of a shark’s having 
actually cut the porpoise in two just as the Indian was hauling it 
aboard of his canoe, I have never heard of any harm resulting to 
the Indians from attacks of this nature; nor do they in the least fear 
the sharks, but, on the contrary, boldly attack and drive them off with 
their long spears. 

One evening, after I had passed several days on the Indian 
Beach, sketching and making studies, Sebatis returned from visiting 
one of the camps, and said: 

‘“S'pose you like to try ‘im porpusin’, I find very good hand go 
with us.” 

“Who is he, Sebatis?” 

“You never see ’im ’tall; his name’s Pieltoma.” 

‘“When do we start?” 

‘May be about daylight, s’pose no fog.” 

Judging by my experience during the few days that I had been 
on the island, Sebatis’s proviso about the fog seemed likely to indefi- 
nitely postpone our expedition. Whence the fog came, or whither 
it went, seemed one of those things that no person could find out. 
At times, when the sun was shining brightly, the distant cliffs would 
suddenly become obscured as if a vail had been dropped over them, 
then nearer objects would become indistinct, and while one was 
wondering at the rapid change, everything animate and inanimate 
would vanish as if by magic. For a time, silence reigned supreme, 
then a din as of the infernal regions began. First, a big steam- 
whistle on the land half a mile away sent out its melancholy boo- 
00-00 in warning to passing mariners; then from the sea came the 
answering whistle of some passing steamer; then the fishermen at 
anchor in the bay blew their tin fog-horns and their conch-shell fog- 
horns, until at last one became thoroughly convinced that every 
conceivable and inconceivable form of ‘American devil,” as the 
English term our steam-whistle, was faithfully represented in the 
uproar. Now and then, during an interlude, a sound that might 
have been uttered by a mountain gnome echoed through the void. 
This was the dismal “kong, kong” of the raven, seated away up on 
some projecting crag. Here the raven is a regal bird and attains 


A PORPOISE DIVING. 


DRAWN BY DAN. BEARD, AFTER A SKETCH BY 


CHARLES C. WARD. 


= 


Porpoise - Shooting. 485 


his greatest size and most majestic form. The transformation came 
as quickly, and almost in a twinkling the vail would be lifted from the 
hill, and the sun would shine out again, bright and warm. Some 
of the effects of light and shade produced by these sudden transi- 
tions are grand beyond all power of description. 

Just about daylight next morning, Sebatis aroused me. There 
was no fog, and it was quite calm on the water, and, as Sebatis 
remarked : 

“A very good day for porpusin’.” 

Pieltoma, a fine-looking young Indian, joined us at breakfast, 
and, that over, we embarked in Sebatis’s canoe and paddled off in 
quest of porpoises. 

‘How far out are you going, Sebatis ?” 

“Can't tell yet; you see, by-em-by, may be we hear ’im por- 
pusis blowin’ somewheres.” 

“T hear ’im porpus blowin’ just now,” said Pieltoma. 

“Sartin, Pieltoma got pretty good ears; I don’t hear ‘im nothin’ 
tall.” 

“T hear ’im, sartin,” reiterated Pieltoma. 

‘Which way ?” asked Sebatis. 

““Away up on rips, this side Eel Brook. Hark! you hear ’im 
now ?” he continued. 

“Sartin,” said Sebatis. ‘We go now pretty quick.” 

Simultaneously their paddles struck the water, and away we went 
with redoubled speed. 1 was listening intently; but, so far, my unedu- 
cated ears failed to detect the sound. 

“There goes porpus!” said Sebatis, dropping his paddle and 
taking up his gun. 

Just then a deafening roar came from the stern, where Pieltoma 
sat, and the canoe tilted slightly over. 

“By tunders!” cried Sebatis, in a chiding tone. ‘‘ You miss ‘im 
porpus sartin, and most upset canoe beside ; some time you bust ‘im 
gun, s’pose, you put in so much powder.” 

This custom of overloading their guns frequently results in serious 
accidents to the Indians, and I know two Indians, one with a broken 
jaw and one with a broken shoulder, the result of this habit. In 
this, however, they are not singular, as the fishermen of Newfound- 
land, who use old muskets for duck and seal shooting, overload 

31A 


486 Porpoise- Shooting. 


SHOOTING A PORPOISE. 


in the same way, and broken shoulders and broken noses are said to 
be quite common among them. 

Poor Pieltoma seemed quite disconsolate at this misadventure, 
and without remark of any kind resumed his paddle, and we con- 
tinued on our way. 

‘What do the porpoises feed on, Sebatis ?” 

“He eat ’im mackerel, herrin’s, and most all kinds of small little 
fishes. | By-em-by we come on feedin’-grounds, then see ‘im more 
porpusis.” 

“| hear ‘im porpus again,” remarked Pieltoma. 

Instantly, Sebatis was on his feet, gun in hand, and I just caught 
a glimpse of a dark body rolling over in the water some fifty yards 
away, when Sebatis fired, then dropped his gun, and picked up the 
long spear which lay ready to his hand in the bow of the canoe. 

Pieltoma paddled quickly up to the porpoise, and Sebatis stabbed 
the dying fish repeatedly, and then dragged him aboard of the 
canoe. He was a medium-sized fish, and weighed about two hun- 
dred pounds. 

‘Now, then, fill my pipe first, then we go hunt ‘im somewhere 
else; may be find ‘im more porpusis,” said Sebatis. 

“Tt will be Pieltoma’s turn to shoot the next porpoise.” 


Porpoise - Shooting. 487 


‘““No; Pieltoma best paddle canoe. I shoot ‘im porpusis.” 

It afterward transpired that Pieltoma was not an expert in por- 
poise-shooting. [| had thought that all Indians were good porpoise- 
hunters; but it seems that there are several grades of excellence, and 
that some of the Indians never attain the requisite skill. Poor Piel- 
toma was one of the latter class, and in future would have to stick 
to the paddle, in the management of which he excelled. 

After paddling along for some time in silence, he said : 

‘“Sebatis, spose we try ‘im farther out; porpus may be chase ’im 
mackerel somewheres. I see ‘im plenty gulls outside.” 

“Sartin, that’s a very good plan,” replied Sebatis. ‘ We'll go 
about two miles out.” 

“Storm coming, Sebatis; wind and sea both rising.” ; 

‘No, not any storm ; only little breezy, that’s all. By-em-by you 
see ‘im plenty porpusis. Always when breezy, then porpusis kind 
playin’, you see—jump ‘round everywheres.” 

“Do the porpoises go in large schools ?” 

“ Always good many together; sometimes I see ’im forty or fifty 
porpusis all jumpin’ ’round at the same time.” 

“There goes three porpusis!” said Pieltoma. 

“Which way?” asked Sebatis. 

“There they are, Sebatis,” I said, as several black objects ap- 
peared, rolling over in the waves. 

“JT see im now. ‘Most too far off shoot ‘im. Paddle little ways 
closer, Pieltoma.” 

Presently, bang goes his gun, and we are paddling rapidly up to 
the fish, which is blowing and thrashing the water into foam. 

“Pretty big porpus; go over three hundred,” said Sebatis, as he 
savagely speared the porpoise. 

‘’Most too big take ‘im in, Sebatis,” said Pieltoma. 

“No, not too big; s’pose you come help me to lift ‘im up.” 

Pieltoma came forward, and I passed aft and took the paddle to 
steady the canoe. As they struggled to get the fish aboard over the 
gunwale, my knees began to shake—there was quite a swell on, and 
I feared that we might go over. However, they got it safely aboard 
at last. 

“By tunders! that’s pretty good luck, gettin’ so big porpus; 
about six gallons oil, sartin!” exclaimed Sebatis, exultingly. 


488 Porpoise - Shooting. 


«Almost upset the canoe that time, Sebatis.” 

“Oh, no; no danger to handle a porpus when two men in the 
canoe. S’pose only one man, then pretty risky. About a year ago 
I got upset myself, takin’ in a big porpus all ‘lone. Fisherman see 
me, and send small boat take me off, and tow canoe alongside 
schooner. Not so bad, you see; save porpus, canoe, paddle, and 
spear ;—lose my gun, that’s all.” 


SEBATIS ADRIFT. 


‘You had a very narrow escape that time.” 

“Well, you see, almost don’t ’scape ’tall, wind and sea so heavy. 
By tunders! when I get ashore, and tell all about it, good many 
Ingins come and listen.” 

‘Go on, Sebatis.” 

“Well, spose I got to tell ’im anyhow; best land somewheres, 
and put ‘im out porpuses, and get dinner first; then I tell ‘im story, 
—too hungry now.” 

After dinner, Pieltoma washed out and dried the canoe, and once 
more we set out in pursuit of the porpoises. 

‘Where are we going now, Sebatis?” 

‘Goin’ away long eddy, off northern head.” 

“Ts that a good place for porpoises ?” 

“ Sartin; always on rips very good place; you see, plenty mack- 


Porporse - Shooting. 489 


erels, herrin’s, and all kinds fishes in eddies and rips; very good 
feedin’-ground for porpusis, you see.” 

The eddies, or rips, alluded to by Sebatis, were caused by the 
obstruction offered by projecting headlands to the ebb and flow of 
the tide, which on this coast rises some forty feet. 

“Pretty late when we get back, s’pose we go all way to long 
rips,” said Pieltoma. 

“Well,” replied Sebatis, ‘ s’pose dark, then we'll camp somewhere 
all night. [ fetch ‘im provisions and cooking tools; sartin, canoe and 
sail make very good camp.” 

Talking did not interfere with their paddling, and we were going 
at a rapid rate for the place where they hoped to find the porpoises. 
Presently we entered rough water, with much such a sea as is caused 
by wind against tide, and the canoe began to jump about in a very 
lively manner. 

“There goes porpus, Sebatis,” said Pieltoma. 

“T see ’im,” said Sebatis, standing up in the canoe, gun in hand. 
Just then we got into some very rough water, and it was a study to 
see the admirable way in which Sebatis poised himself for a shot. 

Pieltoma was holding the canoe well in hand when quite a large 
wave smashed over the bow of the canoe, and some water came 
aboard. 

“Best sit down, Sebatis, take ‘im paddle, may be upset,” said 
Pieltoma. 

Sebatis turned a withering glance upon him, and then, as we 
mounted a wave, fired at some object that I did not see. 

‘Was that a porpoise, Sebatis ?” 

“Sartin. Four, five porpusis all rollin’ over together.” 

‘Did you kill him?” 

“No; miss ‘im clean; all gone down. You see, Pieltoma scared 
so bad make me miss ‘im porpus,” he replied, ironically. 

Retaining his upright position in the canoe, he reloaded his 
and stood ready for another shot. 

“Quick, Sebatis! Very big porpus on this side canoe,” said 
Pieltoma, whirling the canoe around so as to afford Sebatis a chance 


gun, 


for a shot. The next moment we were in the trough of the sea, and 
I saw a flash of silver on an approaching wave ; a belch of fire and a 
roar from Sebatis’s gun instantly followed, and Pieltoma paddled as 


490 Porpoise- Shooting. 


ON THE WAY TO THE EDDIES. 


if for life, while Sebatis dropped his gun and picked up his long 
spear. In the excitement, his usually calm face looked savage, and 
he plunged his cruel spear relentlessly again and again into a huge 
fish that we had now come alongside of. 

I certainly thought that we should be upset this time, for the 
canoe was jumping and rocking in a manner to try the steadiest 
nerves, and the Indians were acting like two demons, and were tug- 
ging at the huge fish, in vain efforts to get him aboard. On my 
hands and knees | crept aft, so as to give them more room. The 
canoe was drifting aimlessly, now on top of a wave and the next 
moment in the trough, and | feared that some of the heaviest seas 
would board us and end the whole matter. At last, their joint efforts 
succeeded in getting the fish high enough to pull him over the gun- 
wale. 


Porpotse- Shooting. 491 


“How you like ‘im porpusin’—pretty good fun?” said Sebatis, as 
he grasped his paddle and regained control of his canoe. 

“Tf you call this fun, I hope that you will put me ashore before 
you begin in earnest,” I replied. 

Presently I heard from seaward the distant booming of guns, as 
of some ship of war at practice. 

“What guns are those, Sebatis?” 

“Guns? Oh, that’s Injuns shootin’ porpusis. Make good deal 
noise on salt water.” 

“T see ‘im five canoes,” said Pieltoma, as we rode on the crest of 
a Wave. 

“ Sartin, must be big school porpusis in rips to-day. Look quick; 
you see ‘im canoe ?” said Sebatis. 

‘No, I don’t see any canoe.” 

“You watch ’im, by-em-by you see ‘im.” 

As we glided into the trough again, I saw a canoe riding a wave, 
with an Indian standing up in the bow, and another sitting in the 
stern, paddling. Then, in a short time, we seemed to be surrounded 
by canoes, and they were constantly popping up, now on one side, 
then on the other, and at short intervals their guns flashed in the 
approaching darkness. 

‘Hadn't we better get ashore somewhere, Sebatis ?” 

“Yes, we go pretty soon; kill ’im one more porpus first.” 

“I don’t see where you can put him; that one you killed last was 
an immense one.” 

““Sartin, that very big porpus, but plenty room one more, s’ pose 
we find ’im.” 

Just then there were a flash and a roar, and a canoe passed rap- 
idly to leeward to secure their prey. 

“My turn next,” said Sebatis, standing up in his canoe again. 

“Look out, Sebatis—look out! Big wave comin’ !” cried Pieltoma. 

I thought that our time had come, but the canoe, dexterously 
handled by the Indians, rode the wave like an ocean bird. 

“If we have many seas like this, Sebatis, we may come to grief 
in one of them.” 

“No danger ’tall ; only got to be careful, that’s all. You see, 
tide just turned now and we got too far in eddy; move out little 
way, then good deal smoother.” 


492 Porpotse - Shooting. 


“Dark comin’ now pretty quick, Sebatis; by-em-by pretty hard 
chance landin’,” said Pieltoma. 

Bang! goes Sebatis’s gun in answer. 

‘‘What was that, Sebatis ?” 

“Only a small little porpus,—too small count ‘im, most.” 

In a few moments they had the porpoise aboard and paddled 
rapidly for our proposed landing-place at Eel Brook, where we were 
to camp for the night. The Indians carried the canoe over the beach 
to the foot of a hill, where some tall fir-trees gave us shelter. They 
then turned the canoe partly on its side and propped it up with pieces 
of wood, then spread the sail on poles placed across the canoe, and 
our habitation was complete. 

Sound, indeed, was our slumber that night,— 


“While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and, in accents disconsolate, answers the wail of the forest.” 


THE MICHIGAN GRAY EING: 


/ 
Y 


By THADDEUS NORRIS, 


AUTHOR OF ‘‘AMERICAN ANGLER’S BOOK.” 


NTIL within a few years, that portion of Michigan extending 
from the forty-fourth parallel to the Straits of Mackinaw, 
dotted with beautiful lakes and traversed by many a clear, 

winding river, was éevra éncognita to the fly-fisher; and although 
we were told years ago by explorers and adventurous anglers that 
trout in great numbers and of large size were taken in the waters of 
the northern portion of the peninsula, the grayling by its true name 
was unknown, and does not now form a subject for any of our 
angling authors. It was supposed that, except in the Arctic regions, 
it did not exist on our continent. About ten years ago, however, 
hunters, and those who were looking up timber lands, began to talk 
of a white-meated fish with all the game qualities of the trout, which 
they captured in streams of both water-sheds—east and west—as 
an addition to their venison and ‘“ hard-tack.” It was known to them 
as the “white trout,” the ‘‘ Crawford County trout,” and under other 
local names, until a specimen in alcohol was sent to Professor E. D. 
Cope, of the Philadelphia Academy of Natural Sciences, who de- 
scribed it in the proceedings of that institution in the year 1865, and 
gave it the scientific name of 7ymallus tricolor, the generic name 
arising from the fresh thyme-y smell of the fish when first taken 
from the water, the specific appellation having reference to its beauti- 
ful dorsal fin. And yet its discovery as a true grayling escaped the 
notice of nearly all of our fly-fishers; and to the few who might 
have meditated an expedition in search of it, its habitat was far off 


ion 
5 


494 The Michigan Grayling. 


and then almost inaccessible. The following passage, however, from 
“American Fish Culture” (p. 196), by the present writer, and 
published by Porter & Coates, in 1867, soon after Professor Cope 
described the fish, attracted the notice of Mr. J. V. Le Moyne, of 
Chicago. 

‘“While on a trout-fishing excursion lately in the northern part 
of Pennsylvania, I met a very intelligent, though not a scientific 
person, who informed me that in exploring some timber lands on the 
Au Sable, in Michigan, he came across a new kind of trout which 
he had never seen before. From his description it was doubtless 
this new species of Zhymallus. He said it readily took a bait of 
a piece of one of its fellows, a piece of meat being used to capt- 
ure the first fish; and that it was very beautiful and of delicious 
flavor.” 

The following summer, after consulting persons interested in 
timber lands, Mr. Le Moyne packed his “kit” and found his way 
by steamer to Little Traverse Bay, and thence by canoe through 
a series of lakes to the River Jordan, where he had great sport, 
not only with grayling, but with trout of good size, taking both 
from the same pool, and not unfrequently one of each on the same 
cast. I may here mention that the Jordan is one of the few 
streams of Michigan in which both are found. Trout are unknown 
in the Manistee and Au Sable. My friend, Mr. D. H. Fitzhugh, 
Jr., of Bay City, the year following, took them in the Rifle and 
went by a new railroad then being built to the Hersey and Muske- 
gon, walking twenty miles of the distance. He had been waiting 
with much interest the extension of the Jackson, Lansing, and 
Saginaw Railroad northward, and in 1873, when it crossed the 
Au Sable, he launched his boat high up on that lovely river. 
Since then the fame of the rare sporting qualities of this fish has 
spread among anglers, and they now come from many of our large 
towns and cities (especially those of the West) to camp on the 
banks of the Michigan rivers and enjoy the sport. 

The European species ( 7. vexz//z/er ) is mentioned by all English 
authors on angling from the time of Dame Juliana Berners to the 
present. The opinion is advanced by some of them that it was 
introduced into England when under the religious sway of the see of 
Rome, as it is generally found in rivers near the ruins of old monas- 


, COC ats 
ued GR UNO 


ii 


. ay a ‘ ye 
; he ies 
% ee ee oT ; lil eh 


The Michigan Grayling. 497 


teries. Sir Humphrey Davy, in his “ Salmonia” (1828), wrote of it 
as inhabiting the Avon, the Ure, the Nye, and the Dee; and Hofland 
(1839), in addition to those, mentions the Trent, the Dove, the Der- 
went, the Wharfe, and a few other rivers. Sir Humphrey Davy also 
tells us that it is found in some of the streams of the Alpine valleys, 
and, he intimates, in some of the rivers of Sweden and Norway. A 
friend of the writer, who of late years has been in the habit of spend- 
ing his summers in Bavaria, has had fair sport with grayling in the 
Isar and Traun, near Munich and Traunstein, as also in the Inn and 
Salza, and mentions the names of a few quiet English anglers who 
come annually in September to fish these rivers. 

European waters, however, were probably never as prolific of 
grayling as those of Michigan; for trout, which feed largely on the 
young of all fish, are there found in the same streams. In Michigan 
rivers where grayling most abound there are no trout, and the fry 
of their own and other species are never found in their stomachs. 
The various orders of flies which lay their eggs in running water, and 
the larvae of such flies, appear to be their only food. 

Writers in sporting papers have recently claimed that grayling 
have also been found in the older States of the Union. If this be 
the fact, they are now extinct. They are said to exist in some few 
of the rivers of Wisconsin, which is quite probable, and also in Mon- 
tana and Dakota. Dr. Richardson, in his ‘“‘ Fauna Boreali- Ameri- 
cana,” gives not only a glowing description of the exquisite beauty 
of Back’s grayling ( 7. s¢gzzfer), but speaks with all the ardor of a 
true angler of its game qualities. The Esquimaux title, ew/ook 
powak, denoting wing-like fin, he says, alludes to its magnificent 
dorsal, which, as in the Michigan grayling, exceeds in size and 
beauty that of the European species. 

Grayling, wherever found, are spring spawners, as also are the 
smelt and the capelin or spearling. All other genera of the salmon 
family spawn in autumn. The usual time with grayling, both here 
and in Europe, is the latter part of April and early in May. They 
do not push for the very sources of rivers, leaping falls and flapping 
sidewise over shallows to find some little rivulet as trout do, but 
deposit their ova in the parts of the stream where they are taken, or, 
if such portions are not of the proper temperature, they will some- 
times seek the mouths of smaller and cooler affluents. The time of 


32 


498 The Michigan Gravling. 


their spawning is limited to a few days or a week or so. Of the 
experts who have gone to the Au Sable to express the ova, fertilize 
it, and bring it East to introduce this fish into the Atlantic States, 
one found that they were not ready to spawn, and the next season, 
another, who went a week or so later, found that they had spawned. 
I have taken fry as long as my little finger on the first of September, 
which were the produce of eggs spawned in April. Those that came 
from ova of the preceding year were six inches long; at two years 
old, they are ten or twelve inches long; at three years old, they are 
thirteen to fifteen inches long; and at four years, sixteen or seventeen 
inches, and weigh from three-quarters of a pound to a pound anda 
quarter; each succeeding year adding proportionately less to their 
length and more to their girth. An abundance or deficiency of food, 
however, has much influence on their growth, while some are natu- 
rally more thrifty than others. Sir Humphrey Davy says: “ Gray- 
ling hatched in June become in the same year, in September or 
October, nine or ten inches long, and weigh from half a pound to 
ten ounces, and the next year are from twelve to fifteen inches.” 
On this point, as will be seen from the foregoing, I differ with him. 
I think he must have written from hearsay. 

In Michigan, in a day’s fishing, the true-hearted angler returns to 
the water a great many more than he puts in his live-box. He will 
keep none under a half pound, and where the streams are so abun- 
dantly stocked, he will not begrudge their liberty to all under that 
weight. Our grayling are much more slender than the European 
species, but, if we credit English authors, do not attain as large a 
size. Three-fourths of a pound with us is a good average size, and 
one of a pound and a quarter is considered a large fish. I have 
heard, however, of their being taken in the Jordan over three 
pounds. The grayling is a fish of more symmetrical proportions 
than the trout, although it has not the vermilion spots and bright 
colors over its body, but its head and mouth are much smaller, and 
with handsome, prominent eyes. Its habits also differ materially 
from those of the trout. It is never found in the strong, turbulent 
water at the head of a rift, but in the deeper portions of the smoothly 
gliding stream. It avoids a bottom of clay or the mosses so com- 
mon to the beds of Michigan rivers, but is always found on gravel 
or sand. Its rise is straight up—sharp and sudden, and when its 


The Michigan Grayling. 499 


attention is once drawn to the artificial line, it does not turn back, 
as a trout does, on getting a sight of the angler, but in its eager- 
ness disregards him entirely, and in running a river with the speed 
of the current, or even if the boat is poled along down stream, it 
frequently takes the fly within a few feet of the pole or the boat. 
Its play is quite as vigorous as that of the trout, and it leaps 
frequently above the surface of the water before it is sufficiently 
exhausted to be drawn in. There is this difference, however, be- 
tween the two. The trout, like a certain denomination of Christians, 
seems to believe in ‘final perseverance,” and will kick and struggle 
to the last, even as it is lifted in; while the grayling, after you have 
sufficiently overcome its obstinate pluck to get its head above water, 
is taken in with pendent tail, as much as to say, “It’s all up”; but as 
soon as it touches the floor of the boat, its lapping and foundering 
begin. If it takes a sheer across the current, with its large dorsal 
fin, it offers greater resistance than the trout. Where they are so 
numerous, one seldom uses the landing-net, for few escape by break- 
ing away, and if they do, there are more to take hold at the next 
cast. 

If in fishing with a whip of three flies the angler hooks a fish 
on either of his droppers, the stretcher fly as it sails around beneath 
is pretty sure of enticing another, and not unfrequently the disen- 
gaged dropper hooks a third’ fish. Sometimes, as I have sat on 
the cover ef the live-box, I have looked down to see three of 
these bright fish, after I had exhausted them, all in a row, their 
dorsal fins erect and waving in the clear water like so many beau- 
tiful leaves of the coleus. Nor is the grayling in taking a fly as 
chary a fish as the trout. Ona perfectly still water you may see 
the latter rising and taking in the minute natural flies, when the 
veriest artificial midge will not tempt it; but let even a light breeze 
spring up and a ripple appear on the surface, and then it cannot 
distinguish the natural from the artificial, and will take hold. The 
grayling, on the contrary, is the most eager, unsophisticated fish 
imaginable. When it sees anything bearing the most remote sem- 
blance of life, it ‘goes for it,” even if the water is as smooth as a 
mirror. 

The whole of Michigan south of the Straits of Mackinaw may 
certainly be called flat country. The only rising grounds to be 


500 The Michigan Grayling. 


found are a few sandy eminences,—they can scarcely be called hills,— 
the formation of which we leave the geologist to account for. And 
yet the rivers abrading against these sand-hills occasionally cause 
precipitous bluffs (few of which exceed a hundred feet), or such an 
elevation as is known in a lumberman’s parlance as a “ roll-way.” 

There is a gradual but almost imperceptible elevation from Bay 
City or Grand Rapids to the region where grayling are found. From 
the former to Grayling, where the railroad crosses the Au Sable, 
a distance of nearly a hundred miles, there is a rise of seven hun- 
dred feet, which gives the rivers an average current of about two 
and a half miles an hour. Wherever there is a contraction in the 
width of the stream, however, especially around a bend, its velocity 
may be three, four, or even five miles, but on account of the absence 
of rocks in the bottom, it almost invariably flows smoothly. The 
strength of the current can only be seen where the ends of half- 
sunken logs or “sweepers” project above the surface, or when the 
canoeman turns his prow up-stream. 

The grayling region on the Lake Huron water-shed has a top 
stratum of coarse white sand. On the streams flowing toward Lake 
Michigan, the sand is yellow, with more or less admixture of vege- 
table loam. The rains falling on these sandy plains and _percolat- 
ing through meet with a lower stratum of impervious clay, and 
thus form under-ground courses which crop out at the margin or in 
the beds of the streams and keep them at the temperature of 
spring water. 

The eighth longitudinal line west from Washington may be 
considered the apex of the water-sheds, declining East and West, 
although the head-waters of streams occasionally interlock. By a 
short “carry,” one can pass from the head-waters of the Manistee 
to those of the Au Sable. I have seen marks on both of these 
streams that gave evidence that surveyors did so forty years ago, 
and have no doubt that it was a route used by the Indians in cross- 
ing from Lake Michigan to Lake Huron. 

The country, except on the barrens, furnishes a fine growth of 
white and yellow pine, as well as oak, beech, maple, and other 
hard woods. White cedars—the arbor vite of the East—invari- 
ably fringe the banks of rivers a few miles below their sources, 
which are generally in ponds or lakes. These trees appear to love 


The Michigan Grayling. 501 


VIEW ON THE MANISTEE. 


spring water, and do not appear until the stream has acquired that 
temperature. Growing on the banks of the streams, the current 
washes away the loose soil from their roots, which causes them to 
incline over and at last to fall into the water; and these are called 
“sweepers.” These rivers, from the constant influx of spring water, 
never freeze, and owing to the slight water-shed and sandy top-soil 
are not subject to freshets, a spring rise of two feet being considered 
excessive. Such streams, here and in Europe, are the home of the 
grayling, for it loves water of a low, even temperature and a smooth, 
steady current. 

The game-laws of Michigan recently enacted forbid the spearing 
and netting of grayling at all times, and do not admit of them being 
taken even with hook and line from January until June. These fish 
acquire condition soon after spawning, but are better in autumn and 
in season nearly all winter. So after the first of September the 
sportsman can unite shooting with fishing. Several summers ago, 
in August, while running the Au Sable, we counted twelve deer and 
two bears. As they were out of season, and my friend Fitzhugh was 
a stickler for the observance of the game-laws in every instance, we 
resisted the temptation to shoot them. 


29 
328 


502 The Michigan Grayling. 


The country I have described has, of course, none of that awe- 
inspiring scenery we find on the shores of Lake Superior; but with 
its clear, ever-flowing, ever-winding rivers over white and yellow 
sands, with graceful cedars projecting at a sharp angle from the 
banks, and every bend of the stream opening a new view, it is novel 
and pleasing to one who has been shut up all winter in a crowded 
city. In running a grayling stream, the feeling is one of peace and 
quietude. There are no song-birds in those deep woods. One only 
hears the far-off falling of some old forest tree, or that weird sound 
caused by the rubbing of the branch of one tree against that of 
another, as they are swayed to and fro by the wind, and in the 
distance one can almost fancy that it is a human voice. Otherwise, 
all is as silent as death. 

My first raid upon the grayling was in August, 1874, with Mr. 
Fitzhugh, of Bay City, on the Au Sable. We ran this river from 
Grayling, on the northern branch of the Jackson, Saginaw, and 
Lansing Railroad, to Thompson’s, a distance of a hundred and sixty 
miles. From Thompson’s, after loading our two boats on a stout 
two-horse wagon and occupying another with springs, we drove 
twenty-five miles to Tawas City, and then, after a few hours on a 
steamer, back to Bay City. There is no grayling-fishing at the 
station called Grayling, nor until one gets four or five miles down 
the stream where the cedars appear. From this as far as we ran 
it—and there was yet sixty miles of it below Thompson’s,—it is 
a beautiful stream, much prettier, I think, more rapid, and less 
obstructed with sweepers, than the Manistee. The distance by land 
is about seventy miles. On our second day, we killed and salted 
down—heads and tails off—a hundred and twenty pounds of 
fish, besides eating all we wanted. In one hanging rift close by 
the bank, as Len Iswel, my pusher, held on to the cedar boughs, 
I took at five casts fifteen fish, averaging three-quarters of a pound 
each. The following day, we fished along leisurely until we had 
our live-boxes, containing each sixty pounds, so full that the fish 
began to die. Then we passed over splendid pools in which 
we could see large schools of grayling on the bottom without 
casting a fly; for we would not destroy them in mere wanton- 
ness. In a few days, however, we came across occasional timber 
camps, when we commenced fishing again, and supplied all hands 


the Michigan Grayling. 503 


2 = 


ON THE MANISTEE. 


with fresh fish. One can leave Bay City by railroad in the morn- 
ing and arrive at Grayling early enough in the afternoon to embark 
and drop down-stream seven or eight miles the same night. He 
should, however, engage boats and pushers beforehand. 

There are two large branches, flowing almost as much as the 
main stream, that enter the Au Sable. The south-west comes in 
about forty-five miles below Grayling and the north branch sixty 
miles below. On this last stream there is a sluice dam, and when 
it is let off to float logs during the summer and autumn, the 
water is discolored somewhat, and the fish do not rise as well. 
One can get all the fishing he wants by running as far down as 
the south-west branch, which, as already stated, is forty-five miles 
by water, and is only twelve miles back to Grayling by land. 
He can engage a wagon at Grayling to come with ice on a stated 
day and haul back his boats, his luggage, and his fish, thus saving 
the labor of pushing back up-stream, which would occupy two 
days of incessant toil. 

When I fished the Manistee several years ago, I went from 
Grayling with Mr. Fitzhugh and another friend, accompanied by 
our pushers, over ‘‘the barrens,” a distance of eight miles, to a 
camp established by I. F. Babbit, to fish with hook and line for 


504 The Michigan Grayling. 


the Bay City and Detroit markets. We made a permanent camp 
four miles below Babbit’s, and fished five days, giving him three- 
fourths of our fish, which he came for every day, and which 
(keeping none under a half pound) amounted to over five hundred 
pounds. 

One of my most pleasant trips, however, was that of the latter 
part of August and early in September of the following year, when, 
in company with two young friends, I spent two weeks on the 
Manistee. We went by the Grand Rapids and Indiana Railroad to 
Mancelona, well up toward the Straits of Mackinaw. Here we 
loaded boats, stores, and camp equipage on a wagon drawn by a pair 
of stout horses, and journeyed eleven miles east to the head-waters 
of the main branch. Our trip was dashed with a spice of adventure 
and a good deal of hard work. We had struck the stream higher up 
than we expected. It was small, scarcely sufficient to float our boats, 
and still had the temperature it had acquired in the little lake which 
was its source. There were no cedars, which only appear when the 
streams have flowed far enough from the ponds to feel the influence 
of spring water. On the morning of the second day, we came to the 
cedars and cold water, and with them the sweepers, which are cedars, 
as already described, which have been undermined by the current and 
have fallen into the water and always across the stream. We had 
three days and a half of hard chopping and hauling our boats over 
huge cedar logs, some of which had probably lain there for a cent- 
ury—for a cedar log, if it remains in the water, never rots. On 
coming to some of these logs, we had to make a ‘‘carry,” placing our 
luggage on their mossy covered trunks and pulling our empty boats 
over. We would then load up and go on to cut more sweepers and 
make more carries. At last, the stream widened and was free of 
sweepers, and we had magnificent fishing. The grayling were per- 
fectly reckless and would take one’s flies within ten feet of the boats. 
It was virgin water; no fly had heretofore been cast on it. After a 
day’s sport, we came to the sweepers again, and had a day and a 
half more with them and half-sunken logs and a few carries. At 
two or three of these carries, the logs were over two feet through. 
Mosses had grown and spread on them until, as we saw by certain 
signs, bears used them as a highway. On one we found thrifty 
cedars growing at regular intervals from the parent trunk that were 


The Michigan Grayling. 505 


SWEEPERS IN THE MANISTEE, 


more than half a century old. Soon the stream increased so much 
in volume, and was so wide, that a tree falling across could not 
obstruct the passage of our boats; and finally we came to open 
water again. And so we ran the stream down to Walton Junction, 
a hundred and fifty miles by water, while it was scarce fifty on a 
bee-line. 

The boat used on my first trip is worth description. It was built 
of white pine; bottom, 1 inch thick; sides, ¢; 16 feet long; 2.10 
wide on top, 2. 4 at bottom, and with a sheer of three inches on each 
side. The bottom was nearly level for eight feet in the center, with 
a sheer of five inches to the bow and seven inches to stern. The 
live-box was six feet from bow, extending back two feet. The sides 
were nailed to the bottom. Its weight was eighty pounds, and it 
carried two men—the angler and the pusher—with 200 pounds of 
luggage. With two coats of paint, it cost about fifteen dollars. The 
angler sits on the movable cover of the live-box, which is water-tight 
from other portions of the boat, and has holes bored in sides and 
bottom to admit of the circulation of the water to keep the fish alive, 
and as he captures his fish he slips them into holes on the right and 
left sides. An axe was always taken along to clear the river of fallen 
logs and sweepers. 


506 The Michigan Grayling. 


My customary tackle on these excursions is a twelve-foot rod of 
about eight and a half ounces; leaders eight feet long, and flies on 
hooks ranging from No. 7 to No. ro (O'Shaughnessy). I have 
found most of the flies used on Pennsylvania streams effective, and 
one can scarcely go amiss in his selection. One summer, I used for 
two weeks the same whip, viz.: ‘‘Professor” for the stretcher, ‘Silver 
Widow” for first, and ‘White-winged Coachman” for second drop- 
per. The first is tied with guinea-fowl feather for wings, an amber 
or yellow-dyed hackle for legs, a yellow floss body wound with gold 
tinsel, and three sprigs of scarlet ibis for tail. The second has black 
wings, black hackle, and black body wound with silver tinsel. The 
third has white wings, red hackle, undyed, and body of peacock hurl. 

As to stores. We found that for five men, including pushers, 
the following were about the right quantities for a two weeks’ 
supply: 50 lbs. flour, 1 bushel potatoes, 25 lbs. of breakfast bacon, 
12 lbs. butter, % peck of onions, with corn meal, tea, coffee, 
sugar, condensed milk, a jar of pickles, and a few cans of corn and 
tomatoes. Bread is a difficult thing to take or to keep in good 
condition. I would advise, therefore, the taking of a portable sheet- 
iron stove, which, with a baker and all other appliances and conven- 
iences, does not weigh over thirty-five pounds. With a box of 
yeast powder, hot rolls can be had at every meal. 


SEA=T ROW VES TElNiGe 


By A. R. MACDONOUGH. 


eA T is a sea-trout?) A problem, to begin with, though 

quite a minor one, since naturalists have for some time past 

kept specimens waiting their leisure to decide whether he 

is a cadet of the noble salmon race or merely the chief of the familiar 
brook-trout tribe. Science inclines to the former view, upon certain 
slight but sure indications noted in fin-spines and gill-covers. The 
witness of guides and gaffers leads the same way, and the Indians 
all say that the habits of the sea-trout and the brook-trout differ, 
and that the contrast between the markings of the two kinds of fish, 
taken from the same pool, forbids the idea of their identity. Yet 
the testimony of many accomplished sportsmen affirms it. The 
gradual change of color in the same fish, as he ascends the 
stream, from plain silvery gray to deepest dotted bronze; his haunts 
at the lower end of pools, behind rocks, and among roots; his action 
in taking the fly with an upward leap, not downward from above,— 
all these resemblances support the theory that the sea-trout is only 
an anadromous brook-trout. If the form and disposition of the spots 
are material, then new names of species need to be devised for 
the many varieties of California trout, some blotched with color like 
a snake's skin, others striped from gills to tail with a single vermilion 
streak. Indeed, the difference in color between the brook-trout and 
the sea-trout ranges within a far narrower scale than that between 
parr, grilse, and salmon. The question has already been before a 
jury, as so many questions involving facts of science do curiously 
drift under the sagacious ken of that palladium of our liberties so 
unfit to solve them. Certain poachers of the south shore of Long 


508 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


Island, charged with invading the close time for brook-trout in that 
lovely region of sea-seeking runlets, alleged in their defense the 
identity of the burden of their creels with the sea-trout, whose 
comings and goings are bound by no inland law. The jury, incom- 
petent either to acquit or convict, had the good sense to disagree. 
And thus, until a final word of authority upon the contents of their 
alcohol-jars comes from the cabinet of the learned, this fish is still a 
fugitive from the jurisdiction of science. 

Careless of being classified so long as he can escape becoming a 
specimen, the sea-trout leisurely grows during his early years to an 
average weight of from two to two and a half pounds. They are 
often taken of much greater size. Among a hundred fish, some seven 
or eight will reach a weight of three pounds and upward. They 
are often caught weighing six or eight, and many more are 
found weighing between one and two pounds. It is a fair conclusion 
that the usual weight of the adult fish may be fixed at two pounds 
and a half, regarding the smaller ones as adolescents, and the larger 
as monsters ; for the latter are dull and heavy in action. They 
take the fly with a surge instead of a break, and drag more than 
they leap or rush when hooked, seeming unaware of either their 
strength or their danger until they are fairly netted. On the con- 
trary, a two-pound fish is full of mettle and ruse—one would say of 
fire, in any other element. He spurns the water for the fly, tears 
the line whirring out, zigzags, leaps and darts, and yields some 
moments later than his heavier rival whose nose he has thrust aside 
to snatch the bait. 

If Soyer could open his mouth on the subject, and bid his palate 
judge— Soyer, who, alas, has gone from the active to the passive 
state of cooking, if his epigram epitaph, “ Soyez tranguzlle,” be true, 
or was it written for his wife ?>—he would murmur, amid grateful tears 
over the experiment, that a sea-trout is either younger than his 
prime or past it, unless two or two and a half pounds, neither more 
nor less, offer the judicious epicure the acme of firmness, pinky flake 
and sapid curd. Their vagrant habits forbid our learning where the 
greater part of their growth is gained or what its precise yearly 
rate of increase is. The way of a ship in the sea, confessed by the 
wise king one of the four mysteries, is a primer’s lesson compared 
with the way of a fish that wanders through sea and river both. 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 509 


72" 


LITTLEBMIaTAGaINg Posaminikewae 
UNIDIAN 


eet 


f 
“ u 


ie 
eo | 
an 


FT | : 


fie He 


5 Me 
we DO F 


Siow 


stan 


MAP OF SOME SEA-TROUT WATERS. 


Sea-trout are found in both hemispheres in the northern belt of 
the north temperate zone. Neither to Asia nor to South America 
are they known to resort. Their geographical distribution seems 
marked in longitude by the Norway border of Europe and_ the 
western coast of our own country. Their range northward is 
probably limited only by such conditions as exclude the possibility 
of life. in the late Polar expedition, Dr. Moss succeeded in capt- 
uring a small salmonoid inhabiting fresh-water lakes as far north as 
82° 40’. Along the whole coast of Labrador and the Dominion, 
and up the St. Lawrence River nearly to Quebec, they abound. 

Nor is saltness of their medium essential to life, so long as they 
find an opportunity for migration to and from the depths. In Lake 
Superior and the streams flowing into it on the northern shore, they 
are plentiful at the usual seasons. 

While in the sea, anadromous fishes are, of course, lost to 
observation ; but it can hardly be supposed that they rove aim- 
lessly through it, or resort to very great depths or very great 


510 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


distances from its shores. The annual return of many, if not all, 
of the survivors of those hatched in a particular river to the very 
nooks of the coast and tidal streams where their life as young fry 
began is undoubted. _ Extraordinary as so subtle an instinct seems, 
compared to our senses, with their limited relations to the world 
about us, it is not more wonderful than that which guides the 
returning flight of birds, through an element as trackless, to their 
original nests. The frequent experiments of Scotch experts with 
marked salmon, and lately those of our own fish commissioners 
with shad, prove that this recurring and unerring sense of locality 
is not an old-wives’ fable, but a true discriminating and impelling 
hermweh. 

Even when they ‘swim into our ken,” the study of the ways of 
fish is perplexing and uncertain. Fur and feather do not elude us 
as fin does. The naturalist can track a beast to his haunts, and 
finds him tangible and of the earth. Birds descend from their 
heights to nest and live within his view. Fish fleet like shadows 
through their mobile element, and much of the science regarding 
them must be as shifting and wavering as light in water,—much 
that goes with their vagrant and invisible existence must always 
remain within the sphere of conjecture. When, therefore, the return 
of migratory fish to their home rivers is spoken of, absolute precision 
as to times and ages is not intended. Some salmon are found in 
rivers, and the same is probably true of sea-trout, in every month 
of the year, at every stage of growth, both ascending and descend- 
ing. But there is a general law that, at a fixed period and for the 
purpose of spawning, guides the great body of migratory fish up to 
the head-waters of the tidal streams out of which they originally 
came. 

Along the Canadian coast, sea-trout begin to press in toward 
fresh water in the latter part of July. They enter the estuary of 
the St. Lawrence by myriads upon myriads, sending off detachments 
north and south as they move on until the main body is scattered 
into groups, of which those tending to the upper river make their 
appearance off the Saguenay during the first week in August. In 
the particular stream of which experience enables us to speak most 
definitely, their arrival is timed with singular punctuality for the 5th 
or 6th of August. Often a pool that on one of those days held only 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 511 


RUNNING THE LACHINE RAPIDS, ST. LAWRENCE RIVER. 


a lingering and indifferent salmon or two on their upward run would 
become filled during the following night with the vanguard of the 
advancing body of large sea-trout. In a general way, it may be said 
that the season for the latter begins when that for the former ends, 
though belated salmon are often intermingled for a time in the same 
pools with the first-comers among the sea-trout. A very backward 
season, or a dash of cold storm crossing the summer, as it sometimes 
does in those regions, may delay their approach to the shore for a 
few days, but not materially. For a time they hover about the out- 
lets of the streams, haunting the reefs and passing out and in with 
the ebb and flow, seeming to grow gradually accustomed to the fresh 
water, till a higher tide helps to lift them over the bars and among 
the rocky passes of the rapids that abound in the smaller rivers. 
Very good sport may be had for a time in taking them at the 
mouths of the streams, from the long sand-spits past which some of 
these empty, or the slippery rocks and jagged reefs barring their 
discharge. At the distance of a far cast from the shore, their back 
fins show pointing above the surface of the incoming waters, whose 
breadth gives free space for long and vigorous runs. The guides 
and Indians will tell you 


and experience proves them to be quite 
in the right—that the run of the fish is governed by the moon, and 
is greatest when she is full or new. At those periods they pursue 
their way up the stream in larger numbers, simply because the 
higher tides then prevailing aid them to pass the bars and rapids. 


512 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


Your guide’s statement of fact is correct, while he errs, as many a 
wiser man has done, in attributing the effect to a primary instead of 
a secondary cause. 

When once fairly in the current of fresh water, their movement 
up-stream is very rapid. Passionless and almost sexless as the 
mode of the nuptials they are on their way to complete may seem to 
more highly organized beings, they drive with headlong eagerness 
through. torrent and foam, toward the shining reaches and gravelly 
beds far up the river where their ova are to be deposited. The 
females come first, afterward the males, and the earliest runs of the 
fish always contain those of the largest size. For several days and 
nights they continue passing swiftly, seldom lying many hours in the 
same pool, never taking a backward stroke; then all at once there 
is a marked break in their streaming by, and the first run has gone 
on. Another one soon follows, and they persevere successively 
coming past till late in September, or even into October. All the 
fish of any one run are of nearly the same weight, and they continue 
decreasing in size with each successive run, until, as you descend 
the river, only an occasional straggler over one or one and a half 
pounds can be caught. On the California coast they, as well as the 
salmon, are at least a month later in entering the rivers, which remain 
during a great part of the summer too shallow and tepid to afford 
them a safe abode, until a heavy rain-fall comes. 

These crowding refluent ranks are but a small proportion of 
those that quitted their native streams for the sea. Thinned as they 
are by voracious enemies there, and decimated again in shallower 
waters by man’s destroying devices, the amazing fecundity of migra- 
tory fishes barely avails to maintain the annual supply. From some 
coasts these fish have wholly disappeared. The people of the United 
States are more destructive in this respect than any other. They man- 
age these things better in the Dominion. There, the importance of the 
fisheries as an object of commerce and a source of food, yielding for 
these interests as they did, for instance, in 1875, over ten and a half 
millions of dollars, has attracted legislative protection, through meas- 
ures which it would be difficult to apply generally or efficiently in 
our extended and democratic country. So far as the authority and 
resources of the fish commissioners of the different States extend, 
they are doing useful and honorable work which deserves the widest 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 513 


LONG SAULT RAPIDS. 


public recognition and support. In Canada, all salmon-breeding 
rivers are leased, inspected, guarded, and yearly reported upon by 
a special commissioner in the Department of Marine and Fisheries. 
Salmon rivers are also sea-trout rivers, and good sea-trout fishing 
can only be obtained, except in streams too insignificant to be worth 
preserving, by taking either a lease of a salmon stream or a license 
from a lessee to fish one. There is little difficulty in making the 
latter arrangement, both because the seasons for the two varieties 
of fish are not concurrent and because a proprietor is only too glad 
to be aided in thinning out the sea-trout, which are very destructive 
to salmon ova and fry. 

Along the course of the St. Lawrence between Quebec and the 
island of Anticosti some of the principal affluents on its north shore 
are the Murray Bay River, the Black, the numerous branches of the 
grand and far-reaching Saguenay, the two Bergeronnes, great and 
little, the Escoumaine, the Saut de Mouton, the Portneuf, the Saut 
au Cochon, the Laval, the Betsiamites, the Colombier, the River aux 
Outardes, the Godebout, Trinity River, the Pentecost, the Romaine, 
the Moisic, and the Mingan. Some of these are famous salmon 
rivers, held on long leases by Canadians or by our own countrymen. 

.A few are obstructed at the outlet or not far above it by dams, 


22 
fore) 


514 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


affording, however, certain and excellent fishing fora short time at 
their mouths. Others, again, do not bear a high reputation as salmon 
rivers, owing to their having been either neglected or over-fished. 
One, the Betsiamite, or Bersimis, is reserved for the use of the In- 
dians. It is a fine river, but so cruelly fished, netted, speared, and 
snared by its reckless proprietors that it has almost ceased to rank 
as a salmon-breeding water. 

Many of these streams will long remain unvisited except by the 
most enterprising anglers, on account of their remoteness from the 
common lines of travel and the forbidding uninhabited country through 
which they flow. The easiest access is still by the way of Quebec. 
As. far as the village of Tadousac, at the mouth of the Saguenay, a 
daily steam line runs. But here all usual and comfortable ways of 
transportation end, and the solitary recesses beyond can be pene- 
trated only by the aid of country carts or of small vessels. Taking 
into account the enforced delays of preparation, the forlorn condition 
of beasts, roads, and vehicles upon a land journey, and the accidents 
of winds, waves, and fogs, a visitor to any of these streams is hardly 
safe in counting upon less than seven or eight days’ traveling between 
it and New York. 

Whatever its soft Indian name may mean (if it be not rather 
Breton), Tadousac might well be called the place of rest. Within 
forty-eight hours from New York, one seems transported to one of 
the ends of the earth. All around it is vast and lonely. The great 
river stretches glimmering away to a shore seldom faintly seen. 
Behind, bare lofty crags shut it in, treeless and silent. A huge 
promontory bars it from the Saguenay, rolling black and cold as if 
drained from the eternal chasms of polar glaciers. The air comes 
thin and pure, the light falls sharp on the gray brows of the cliffs 
and the brown sand washed up by the bay. Most of those trim 
cottages dropped among the rocks belong to the best people in the 
province of Quebec, and a few to countrymen of our own, who long 
ago found out this retreat for cool, economical, northern lotus-eating. 
Such traces of human life are lost like dots in the great spaces. The 
silence is broken every hour by a restless little bell, tinkling from 
the gable of the oldest church on the continent. This is a pocket- 
chapel, that could be set inside a town drawing-room, low-pitched, 
mossy, and winter-bitten, dark inside with two hundred years’ censer-_ 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 515 


EN ROUTE. 


smoke—the homely shrine for the simple faith of a poor and kindly 
race. The hotel is everything that our sea-side caravansaries are 
‘not,—smiall, neat, quiet, with the host’s hand for every wayfarer 
instead of being against him. Its neighborhood to the Saguenay 
attracts always a group of salmon-fishers, ready, for the stranger's 
benefit, with courtesy, information, and news from the streams. 
Everything, indeed, about the settlement is salmonoid. A short walk 
along the sands leads to a cluster of /adztans’ houses in a corner 
of the bay. Here, if the angler has taken due care for his arrange- 
ments in former years, his guides and skipper welcome him, and his 
tmpedimenta for the month’s work are gathered. David, Gédéon, 
Edouard, Pierre Jacques, Fabian, with a dozen children, French and 
Indian mixture, meet him with hearty greeting. Poor Cyrille is 
missing. No paddle was more deft than his, no shot for a seal surer. 
Three years ago, in the St. John’s, a treacherous whirlpool, boiling 
; up at the foot of a rapid, wrenched the canoe out of his grip and 
sucked him with it to the bottom. The lot of these Zadztans is mis- 
erably hard and poor. The stony soil grudges a little grass or a 
handful of oats and potatoes. They make the rivers their farm, 


516 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


shooting seals on the ice, catching fish for salting, and hunting the 
porpoise. They are all wiry, agile fellows, temperate, docile, and 
good-natured. As guides, they are thoroughly faithful and expert, 
but a trifle lazy at times, and slow to learn anything beyond their 
range of habit. Part of them are of mixed race, part pure Canadian 
French, with a trace of gentle blood now and then, due to some 
irregular noble of the early days. Tadousac being the éermznus a quo, 
beyond which nothing can be had, the traveler’s first care is to 
examine his sporting chattels, accumulated there during years, and 
to find or set them all in order. If rats have gnawed the canvas of 
his tents, or the bed-sacking or bags, these are to be mended. The 
winter in a store-house may have dealt hardly with his canoes, that 
need perhaps bark patches or a thwart, and certainly new pitching, 
The tinker’s art is among his guide’s accomplishments, should the 
“batterie de cuisine” show signs of wear. Then the chaloupe is to 
be inspected as she lies aslant above low-tide mark on the sands— 
a seven or eight ton lighter-built craft, of some three feet draft, one- 
masted, with jigger astern, and stub bowsprit. Midships is a hold 
for ballast and cargo, forward a cabin built for dwarfs but holding 
berths, seats, and a table, and astern a clear space for handling 
sheets and helm, large enough for enjoyment of the evening pipe 
and the morning douche. All at last overhauled and stowed, the 
canoes triced up outside the shrouds and the special case of stores 
sorted for the cruise, which may last no one knows how long, we wait 
for a gentle south-west and the first of the ebb. 

Opposite Tadousac, the St. Lawrence has a breadth of over twenty 
miles. Here the Saguenay, storming in, conquers the greater flood, 
as the Missouri does the Mississippi, and deepens the grandeur and 
wildness of its scenery. The southern bank is as picturesque and 
less rugged, but along the widening water we hug the northern 
shore, seldom stretching across far enough to see the outlines of the 
other break into distinct masses. Only below its junction with the 
Saguenay can the imperial character of this majestic river be felt. 
Crossing half a continent to meet the sea half way, it spreads like a 
sea itself, and tosses dangerous waves under a sudden gale. On the 
north it washes the base of spurs sent out by the great Laurentian 
range, whose iron-bound off-shoots frown down over the whole 
lower course of the river, retreating at points for a few miles, and 


Sea-Trout Fishing. Digi 


opening everywhere among their recesses great breadths of a clayey 
soil, dotted with lakes, and channeled by rapid rivers. Some of these 
are fed by large sheets of water, and follow a course of over a hun- 


CLAY BANK AND RAPIDS. 


dred miles, while others run for less than a third that distance. 
Long, sandy capes jut into the river, and rocky islets fringe it, but for 
many unbroken leagues of its flow it laps the feet of the savage gray 
crags or chafes around granite blocks banded with red and purple. 
A fisherman’s house under a cliff, a cluster of huts or a light-house 
where a stream pours in, and a single great saw-mill and lumber 
depot are the only inhabited spots along hundreds of miles in its 
course. The voyager making a port from curiosity or stress of 
weather gains a hearty welcome, giving in exchange his week-old 
news, fresh and strange to his hosts. The immense expanse of the 
river, notwithstanding the steady commerce traversing it, is lonely 
as the sea—and often days pass without meeting a sail. With a 
fresh south-west breeze such as often prevails in August, the run 
has been made from Tadousac to the destination within twelve 
hours. Oftener, sailing with the morning ebb at nine, the afternoon 
of the next day has seen us at camp. One melancholy diary 
records four nights spent aboard with alternations of thick fog and 
baffling north-easter ; our vessel, after a tossing struggle of endless 


334 


518 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


CLEARING FOR A CAMP, 


and hopeless tacks, turning tail to the blast each evening and 
bounding back for miles into some sheltered cove under the cliffs; 
and five days wasted in prematurely using up the stock of novels, 
counting wild ducks cutting the mist, listening for the blow of the 
grampus like escape steam,—gvzdors, the natives call him,—and 
watching the graceful roll of the white porpoises. After making 
the mouth of the stream, a favoring tide must be waited for, to 
carry our craft a couple of miles up its winding channel, in search 
of a good anchorage. It is safer to retain the cha/oufe during all 
the angler’s stay. If she is dismissed, there is no certainty of her 
arriving again within a week of the appointed day, and with the 
possibility of illness or accident in these solitudes,—though these 
are mishaps the sportsman never counts on,—it is well to have the 
means of immediate return at hand. Besides, the vessel serves as a 
convenient store-house, to be visited from up-stream for fresh sup- 
plies, and for relieving the camp of accumulating fish. Higher than 
the flow of the tide it is not possible to carry the cha/oupe, and about 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 519 


this point she is moored and the canoes then unlashed, loaded with 
the tents and a day’s rations, and headed against the current for a 
six miles tug to the lower camp. 

With a sweep around the first point hiding the chaloupfe, you take 
possession of the wilderness, or rather the wilderness of you. The 
sense of loneliness descends suddenly, oppressively, yet with a charm. 
Stretched along the bottom of the canoe, reclining against cushions 
of well-stuffed canvas sacks, with pipe alight, the quiet movement, 
the profound stillness, the lifeless aspect of nature, lull you into 
dreamy delight. The river is not picturesque, in the usual sense— 
its beauty is a stern beauty of its own. For some distance the rocks 
stretch along the bank, alternating with precipitous masses of clay, 
and sinking gradually into ranges of bowlders, then spreading out 
in pebbly beaches, where the first murmur of the rapids touches the 
ear from a distance. The hills are clothed with tall spruces, here 
descending rank on rank to the edge, there shattered and piled 
across gaps in the clay ramparts. Birches, some of noble height, 
are intermixed, and at the rim stout alders thrust their snaky 
branches in. At some points the shore falls level, sweeping back 
for a tract covered with bushes and such forest trees as the climate 
spares. But the pervading effect is somber, the prevailing color 
gloomy. Grays of the rocks, bluish browns of the clay, and the 
mournful hue of the spruce shadow the water, which struggles in 
vain with its crisp breaks of white foam to brighten their reflections. 
Under the trees the color of the stream is dull olive, paling into 
brownish-yellow in the open reaches, but with no tone of the brandy 
tint that often stains waters flowing from spruce forests. While the 
tide holds, the rapids are drowned, but a mile or two up they begin 
to show their teeth and sound their dash. Shifting the paddle for 
the setting-pole, we work through the first of these, and glide into 
a still stretch of deep water covering great scattered rocks. In such 
pools salmon lie on their way up, but the trout prefer smaller and 
less smooth ones. From the break of the current among the surface 
rocks it can easily be seen what the height of the water in the river 
is,— whether the stream is so shrunken as to need tediously careful 
treatment, or so swollen that the turbid wave cheats both fish and 
fisher, or at that happy, just medium in which the latter will go most 
safely and the former most in danger. The guide slackens his stroke 


520 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


now and then, peering over the side to catch a glimpse of trout 
flitting like a shade through the depths if they have yet begun 
their wandering up, and often is able to say that they are moving 
in numbers—as often says it when none are seen. In his good- 
nature and eagerness to make it pleasant, this dear guide sees 
many things that are invisible, counts much more game than is 
caught, and never permits the puniest trout to be hooked without 
shouting ‘‘ gael saumon/” Now and then whirling around a point, 
the river races down on us with the fierceness of a torrent, tossing in 
waves along a clay escarpment towering fifty feet, which it has cut 
down square and sheer as if with a razor. The rocks and pebbles 
are all shot off to the other bank, where the passenger may walk 
and wade while David gives the canoe rope, and plashes as he tows 
her alongside in the shallows. It is usual to refrain from casting the 
line on the way up, not only for the sake of avoiding delays —but, 
since the camp looks down on the choicest pool in all the river, why 
take the edge from the rapture of landing the best the first? As we 
ascend, the rapids grow more frequent—twenty have been counted 
from tide to camp, and all the number not told. More level spaces 
and denser trees succeed, the channel breaks up in places with islets 
of rock ; and at last, rounding a curve, one of these lifts its feathery 
point of willows, David reverses his pole to hush the clang of the 
iron shoe on the stones, a few strong thrusts force the boat up against 
the rush of the narrowing outlet, and she touches the bank at the 
foot of the Homer Pool. Before anything is unloaded, the angler 
springs out, rigs a cast, and hurrying to the head of the pool, drops 
his first fly. That moment is crowded with’the expectation of the 
whole past year. Two of us once so landed and so stood, and four 
large fish for each were raised and netted before the men had cleared 
the canoes of their load. But that year there was much grass in the 
place, and the multitudes of mosquitoes sat on it, being in number 
about a million, each having also compressed twelve months’ expec- 
tation into that moment. The thirst for blood on our side was soon 
satisfied, while the insects, far from taking off their keen edge, grew 
industrious in putting it on. 

At this point, the stream, spreading out to a hundred and fifty 
feet in width, wheels to the right, striking a turtle-shaped rock nearly 
flush with the surface which splits it in two, hollowing on the near 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 521 


THE HOME CAMP. 
‘ 


side a deep pool, the breadth of a fair cast, and some sixty feet long. 
The farther side of this depression is a shelving wall, full of crevices 
and nooks, and the camp side a grassy bank four or five feet high, 
fringed at either end with bushes. Into the pool, above the turn, 
dashes a pretty run of swift water, three feet deep, with excellent 
wading ground. This little promontory is the only cleared spot on 
the stream. The trees were felled more than twenty years ago by 
an English baronet, who encamped with a retinue on this plateau, 
and has left traditions of famous sport. His forest lodge was chosen 
with the eye of a Nimrod, whose other eye must have been a land- 
scape painter's. This basin is very seldom empty of trout. Last 
season, eleven fish weighing seventeen pounds were taken from it 
within an hour before breakfast by one rod, and the whole yield 
of the pool during the four days for which it was vexed only with a 
few casts at morning and evening was seventy-two fish. 

A description of the peculiarities of a lodge in this vast wilder- 
ness, and of the obstacles to penetrating it and the devices for sur- 
mounting them, will probably not interest woodsmen, who are familiar 
with them all. But the greater part of readers have rather vague 
notions of a camp, a canoe, or a rapid; and to them a rough sketch 
of these features of a life in the woods may be interesting. 

We “ build our light town of canvas” with the precision of Roman 
camp-pitching. Removed from the bank so far that no backward- 


522 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


sailing fly may be arrested by its roof, one wall-tent rises near the 
shelter of the shrubs, and another opposite, if the party consists of 
two or more persons. Between them are planted the table and chairs, 
which were sketched out rather than finished by rough carpentry of 
adze and auger many summers ago and have wintered often in these 
thickets. _ Farther back, at the edge of the trees, stands an A tent 
for the men, and another to cover the provisions, with a space for 
the camp-fire between. Such a canvas house, with its outside fly 
stretched over, gives perfect shelter from heavy rains, and has 
nothing to fear except from sudden gusts that may rip out the tent- 
pins. Its inside furnishing is simple but complete. First, the bedstead 
demands the attention due to arrangements for inviting tired nature’s 
sweet restorer during nine good hours out of the twenty-four. Four 
stout crotches, kept apart by cross-pieces, and sunk deep in the 
ground, lift, at a height of two feet above it, two poles run through 
the broad hems of a canvas sacking, which may be double and 
stuffed with hemlock twigs. They give a springy support to buf- 
falo robes and blankets. The upper one of these is to be doubled 
down its length, and a wide sheet, folded in the same way, laid 
between. An air-pillow and pillow-case complete a bed as trim 
as any ever spread by a neat-handed Hibernian Phillis. On the 
other side of the tent a neat wardrobe, with ample ventilation, is 
built up with similar rods on taller crotches. The dress needed is of 
thick woolen throughout, though at some noon hours in the brief 
intense summer of that region light clothes are comfortable. A few 
nights of last season were too hot for sleep—a rare experience. 
The mercury ranges usually between 40° and 74°, but toward the 
end of August, and especially while aboard ship, the air is constantly 
chilly. Next, a sideboard rises against the rear tent-pole, piled up 
of empty boxes, the upper one of which holds the library,—pegs 
being set in the pole for thermometer, spring-balance, and looking- 
glass, if you will. The wine-cellar and spirit-vault are established 
outside the tent, under the fly. Add a block candlestick, strew the 
ground thickly with sapzz covered by an India-rubber cloth for 
carpet, and one is better lodged than many a tenant of a log-cabin. 
Next day after arriving, the guides go down again with all the 
canoes to bring a fortnight’s stores from the cha/oupe. This burden 
loads their light craft so deep that care and skill are needed to twist 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 523 


through the rapids; and it will be late in the afternoon before the 
ring of their iron-shod poles against the stones, heard in measured 
cadence half a mile off, gives the signal of their return. 

The time of their absence may be improved to review tackle and 
perfect it for serious work. The prudent angler will take at least 
three rods. Two of these should not be very light, for they may be 
called on, as has happened, to handle a salmon. In any case, the 
fish are so plentiful that it is not worth while to waste time over the 
smaller ones, and the most useful rod is one stiff enough to snub a 
pound trout, and bring him promptly to net. A duplicate reel and 
line are, of course, provided. As to flies, the indifference of sea-trout 
about kind, when they are in the humor to take any, almost warrants 
the belief of some anglers that they leap in mere sport at whatever 
chances to be floating. It is true they will take incredible combina- 
tions, as if color-blind and blind to form. But experiments on their 
caprice are not safe. If their desire is to be tempted, that may most 
surely be done with three insects, adapted to proper places and 
seasons. One need not go beyond the range of a red-bodied fly 
with blue tip and wood-duck wings for ordinary use, a small all-gray 
fly for low water in bright light, and a yellowish fly, green-striped 
and winged with curlew feather, for a fine cast under alders after the 
patriarchs. By all means make your own flies, or learn to do so, 
for the sake of practicing a delicate art and amusing some idle hours 
on the stream. Besides, one’s own handiwork is stronger than that 
of most shops, and with a pocket-book full of material, it wili be easy 
to replace a loss, by no means infrequent, caused by the tipping of a 
canoe. 

Wading drawers of India-rubber, reaching well above the waist, 
are indispensable ; and the foot that is shod with anything but a 
nail-studded sole will surely bring its wearer to great grief when it 
touches the treacherous clay. Much of the bottom is of this greasy 
stuff, looking like stone, but as slippery as glass, and unsafe for any 
foot-gear whatever. In some runs, the river-bed is pebbly, but 
usually strewed with large stones, and the current is so swift as to 
render a knee-deep stand unsteady. 

The day’s work in camp follows quite a regular routine. | About 
six, the light wakes you—the guide never will. A dip in the pool 
or a bucket dash at the brink tones the nerves for a firm touch of the 


524 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


rod, while the reel sings its morning song over a brace of fish caught 
for breakfast, which the cook-guide is preparing. This need be 
nothing more substantial than ham and eggs, of which a week's 
supply can be kept (unless, indeed, a fondu is prepared, which the 
guide can be taught to compose very well), fish-balls,— and David 
is an adept at these,—the trout, broiled on a wire gridiron, buttered 
toast or Boston crackers grilled, and marmalade, with tea or coffee. 
For a change, a partridge-chick can now and then be knocked over, 
or a squirrel or rabbit tried. After that comes the chef-d’wuvre of 
our wood-cook—créfes / These are thin rice cakes, fried crisp in a 
pan, and eaten with maple sugar. Do not grudge the men a good 
hour over their own breakfast. This month is sunshine in their dull 
year, and such plain fare sybaritic to them. And a pipe in this air, 
lit with a wood ember, is so doubly delicious that it needs no patience 
to prolong it awhile. About nine, the canoe floats off, bearing you 
sitting flat in the bottom, and the guide upright astern, either to the 
lower pools to fish from the boat, or to the upper water where land- 
ing and wading are more convenient. The fish will rise at almost 
any hour of the day, and in any weather,—rather more languidly 
from noon till three, under bright sky ; rather more actively at early 
morning and after four. Where the water has gathered smoothness 
again after passing a rapid, it begins to deepen and converge to a 
point. Just there, in ten or fifteen feet depth, among the rocks 
forming a sort of dam, where the outlet of the pool breaks over in a 
glassy curve, the large trout love to lie, watching for insects swept 
down. Your fly follows the swirl, swimming swifter, till, just as it 
nears the rock at the very cleft of the fall, there is a surge, a tug, and 
the fish darts up-stream. The large ones seldom break the surface. 
Turn the rod at once with the reel uppermost, and do not check him 
till he tries to move down again, and then only gently. If he can 
be held away from the brink,—and it is not often, with care, that he 
slips over it,—from four to seven minutes should suffice to bring him 
to net; though if he be fresh run from tide and over three pounds, 
twice that time may be needed. It is well to search the neighbor- 
hood of the bushes, too, before descending more than half-way down 
the pool, or of any great rocks scattered on the bottom. 

While the fisherman is busy, the guide left at home has been 
cleaning and curing the catch of the day before. No fish are wasted. 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 525 


GETTING READY FOR BREAKFAST. 


Coarse salt and barrels always make part of the chaloupe’s freight, 
and the trout not eaten are packed and carried to Tadousac, as an 
important and welcome addition to the winter’s stores for these poor 
fellows’ families. When a larger trout than usual is netted, he is 
greeted with the cry, “C'est bon four le baril.” The return from 
the chase must be so timed that the rapids may be passed before 
dark. Immediately on landing, every fish caught is faithfully 
weighed (none being small enough to reject) and entered on the 
score. Usually, dinner is at six, the morning’s carte being varied 
only with one of three or four kinds of preserved soup, baked or 
fried potatoes, boiled rice, sherry and Bordeaux, cheese, raisins, 
coffee, and a chasse. If you ask the best way of cooking the fish— 
those over two pounds weight deserve the pot; the flavor and juices 
of smaller ones above a pound will be kept unwasted by roasting 
them under the coals; and as to those below a pound, since in this 
region not St. Anthony, but probably St. Lawrence, is their patron, 
let them follow his fate and grill on the gridiron. None are small 
enough to spoil by frying; but our cordon, with a little superintend- 
ence, is quite equal to a stew in claret. After dinner, the A/ateau is 
large enough for a quarter-deck promenade of thirty steps to and 
fro, till, finishing the second cigar, you look up about nine to see the 


526 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


RUNNING A RAPID. 


eGo) Great Bear just 
Te over the tent 

: stealing into the lingering 
twilight, and call David to make a “smudge” 
inside the canvas that may completely clear 
it of mosquitoes, and to tie down the flaps, shutting you in for the 
night. On Sundays, the stream runs undisturbed. Reading, jour- 
nalizing, and repairs of many kinds fill the time. Last summer, the 
Government guardian, an old acquaintance, chanced to arrive on 
Saturday night, and camped near us,—perhaps needlessly suspicious 
of a breach of Sunday close-time. 

His business at this season was to examine and clear the port- 
ages, several of which are blazed along the river-side at points made 
impassable for canoes by the roughness or sudden fall of the rapids. 
The rapids vary greatly as to depth, height, and length. Some 


cover a rod of slightly broken water with small stones; some race 
for a quarter of a mile in surges over clay bottom, scooped and 
beaten as hard as rock, while others toss and dash on a sharp de- 
scent for twice that space out and in among a maze of granite bowl- 
ders. Up and down these last, and around some steep falls, the 
canoe must, of course, be coaxed with a line, the guide either wading 
and steadying her or stumbling alongside ashore. Running a rapid 
is really piloting, for the natural fall, the lay of the rocks, and the best 
water between them, remain always nearly the same. Many a jagged 
old sunken lump or bowlder-head just above the surface, worn glassy 
smooth, with long weeds streaming like hair from it, looks familiar 
to the angler year after year. Most of the rapids may be waded 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 527 


across at very low water, but with 
considerable risk, on account of the 
irregular, slippery foothold and_ the 
tearing current. The ascent or de- 
scent of a rapidis exciting, even with- 
out the trifle of danger it brings. 
The whispering ripple of the water 
deepens into an angry rush as you 
approach. At the head or foot the 
pitch looks much sharper than it 
really is, the eye taking in the fore- 
shortened incline. Down among 
crowded clusters of rocks, now seen, 
now swept under, the flood comes 
‘bounding, coiling, and shattered. 
Every epithet in Southey’s particu- 
larly foolish piece of nursery drivel, 
the “Cataract of Lodore,” might find 
reality and echo here. 

In this sort of surf, half stone, half 
water, a common wooden boat would 


be bumped to pieces in five minutes. 
The only thing that can float in 
it, the birch canoe, is one of those 
marvels of clever adaptation that look 


like genius. Such a canoe is really 
nothing but a basket with pointed 
ends and _ stiffened sides. You sit, 
float, and toss in her as you would in 


a basket, and without most watchful 
perpendicularity and tiresome tension 
of nerves in balance, you tip out of 


her as you would out of a_ basket. 


She is a mere single skin of bark 
sewed together with deer-sinews, PADDLING. 

rimmed with slight ash or birch strips, and connected across at top 
by five slender thwarts, or ‘“‘bords,” modeled in all her lines so that 
the deepest point is along the middle bottom, and she turns in the 


528 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


water every way as on a pivot. The draught, with two men aboard, 
is three to four inches. Buoyant, of elastic frame, unsteady to 
the lightest touch, endways or sideways, she answers to skillful 
control like a sentient thing, and throws a clumsy rider like a mus- 
tang. With her light grace and delicate color, she is the lady of water- 
craft. The skill of these canoe-men is wonderful, only gained by 
long practice from early childhood. Nearing the foot of the rapid, 
while yet in still water, the guide drops the paddle, stands erect with 
his setting-pole in the extreme stern, his boy in the same attitude 
at the point of the bow, and studies the eddies and stones intently. 
In a moment she is swung alongside a rock, her peak thrust just 
around it across the stream; then, with a mighty drive from the poles, 
she darts diagonally through the torrent and whirls her tail down- 
stream, under the lee of another rock a few feet higher up. She is 
again held, hugging the granite by main force, and edging forward till 
the beat of the water boiling up astern of her center helps to lift her 
on, and with another powerful send she shoots across upward again to 
the next covering point. She threads her intricate way among the 
bowlders by repetition of these zigzag dashes, sometimes missing the 
aim and crashing back against a rock, sometimes beaten aside by the 
pole slipping on the bottom, with the guide’s eye quick at every turn, 
and his muscles steadily braced. The men’s pose, alertness, and 
strength form a study. At times she must be thrust up by sheer power 
against the dead rush of the torrent, gaining inch by inch. David's 
cries to his boy rise above the noise of the water—‘‘Pousse!/ arréte!/ 
lance Veau! hale eau! autre bord! pousse, pousse au loin! ” ~XcGie 
dents occur, but seldom from miscalculation. If a pole should snap 
while the stress of the flood beats on her, the canoe may be whirled 
broadside on, and capsized. Then there is a rolling and tumbling 
among the rocks, struggling for a footing, sometimes with hard bruises, 
—or if near the foot of the rapid, one may be swept into deep water 
and must keep a clutch on the point of the canoe till she drifts into 
shallows. Except in the larger rivers, there is not much danger of 
drowning. The guides prefer ascending to going down a rapid, as 
the risk of the canoe getting beyond their control is much less when 
the water drives against her in sight. They are very cautious, too, 
to avoid straining or bruising the boat. ‘You act as if this canoe be- 
longed to you,” David would reproach his boy at a careless movement. 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 529 


Well handled, a good birch may last for four years; or she may 
be banged into uselessness by an inexpert in one season of low water. 
The red bark is stouter and more durable than the smoother yellow. 


Two years ago, fires 
ravaged the — birch 
woods about the upper 
Saguenay, where much 
of the material is obtained, and forced 


TURNING A RAPID. 


the Indians to seek their bark at great distances, increasing the price 
of their work. A new canoe of the size used in these streams costs 
with equipment from eighteen to twenty-two dollars. These are 
eighteen feet long, three and a quarter across, and fifteen inches 
deep, weighing about forty pounds. They are Montaignie canoes, 
built by Indians of the north shore. The larger ones, used in the 
St. John’s and the greater rivers, will carry nine men or a freight 
of nearly a ton. They are made by the Micmacs of the south shore, 
and have higher peaks and flatter bottoms, with less roll than the 
former. 


After eight or ten days spent at the home camp, all the pools 
within range having been several times whipped over, and the run 
of large trout sensibly slackens. At a point seven miles higher 
up (measured through its crooks), the river rests, after its earlier 
wanderings for seventy miles through untrodden forests, and ex- 
pands into a basin, between two and three miles across in either 
direction, deep set among craggy hills. Through this lake, and to 
the far regions beyond, all the fish, salmon and trout, pursue their 
pilgrimage. Just opposite the home camp a well-marked portage 

34 


530 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


opens, cutting off the bends, and bearing straight over a mountain 
and through dense woods to the lake by a rough course of three 
miles. Sunday, a leisure-day, is usually chosen for this march, and 
most of the hours of it are required 
to make the carry and settle the new 


camp. At one trip, the men carry 
over tents and a week’s provision, 
returning to bring the canoes on a 
second. Sixty or seventy pounds for 
»ach makes up a load, and 
with this settled com- 
pactly on the shoul- 


ders, and steadied 
by a broad strap 
passing over the 
forehead, so as to 
leave the arms quite free, 
they climb the steep hill- 


crest, often cutting steps 
in the wet clay, and press MAKING A PORTAGE. 

through the woods at a quick gait, making the distance within two 
hours. Portaging the canoes is much more difficult and delicate work. 

They are turned over, hoisted on the head, and carried poised with 

the two hands at the edges, a little forward of the middle, giving the 

bearer at a distance among the trees the look of an ungainly two- 

legged elephant. _ For a time, axe and knife must be depended on 

for tools, sapzx for beds, and birch-bark for furniture. As we go on, 

the thicket grows denser and the solitude deepens. Very little animal 

life disturbs it. A few squirrels, and a partridge with her brood will - 
chirp and flutter; at the lake, we shall see swooping fish-hawks and 

hear the kingfisher’s metallic cry. Occasionally, in these woods, as on 


Sea-Trout fishing. 531 


the stream, a fresh bear’s track is crossed, but the silence here is sel- 
dom broken except by the ceaseless under-song of the mosquito’s hum— 


“The horns of Elfland faintly blowing.” 


This minim of insects must have a word. Since fishing began, 
he and his stinging kin have been the angler’s pest. Herodotus 
thinks him worthy of mention and describes the Egyptians’ device for 
protection against him,—that of spreading a net over a shaded cleft 
in the rocks, through the meshes of which he will not pass unless 
the sun shines in. The Sicilian fisherman of to-day contrives pre- 
cisely the same refuge from his attack. but after the experience 
of many years on many streams, the assertion is confidently made, 
that all masquerading in veils, helmets, goggles, and capes, brings 
mere vexation and impediment, and that the most effective and least 
troublesome protection is gained by rubbing every exposed surface 
thoroughly and often with a mixture of three parts of sweet oil and 
one part of oil of pennyroyal. 

At the lake it is always cold. The sunsets over its rugged 
shores doubled in the crimson water, the frequent aurora flashing 
and streaming across the whole breadth of sky, and the clear stars 
looking down on a mirror as still, touch the feeling like beauty 
wasted, since so rarely seen, if nature knows any waste. 

A variation of sport may be enjoyed here, if one condescends to 
capture the great pickerel abounding in the lake, either by casting a 
spoon with a stout rod among the lily-pads, or by lazily letting ten 
fathoms of line trail from the canoe while the guide paddles slowly, 
till one of these pond-sharks, striking, gorges the gaudy bait, and is 
hauled up alongside and knocked in his grim head with a short 
club. A couple of hours of this rude sport yielded to one line a 
hundred and twenty-two pounds, the largest fish weighing eight. 
This is merely justice pursuing murder, since the pickerel is a 
destroying terror to trout and salmon. They lurk in shoals around 
the outlet, to seize the fish passing up and wage havoc among them 
for a mile down the stream. Escaping these waylayers, the fish 
have still many miles to run before reaching the spawning-grounds. 
The intervening water above the lake is too free from rapids to 
afford good fishing until a tributary is reached, too far away to be 
attainable in the few days remaining. Pointing the flotilla peaks 


532 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


south out of the lake, we turn our backs upon nothing between it 
and Hudson’s Straits, except the dreary solitudes of Labrador, with 
a few peaceable Indian tribes scattered through them. _ In its fall of 
two hundred feet through seven miles, between the outlet and the 
home camp, the river breaks into magnificent pools, drained by 
sharp, rough rapids, with long intervening stretches of deep-water 
lurking-places (even so late) for salmon. Many of them of large 
size are passed lying at the bottom motionless, as if cased in ice, or 
heard breaking at night. A small one now and then absorbs the 
fly. In no part of the river are 
the sea-trout so large, bold, and 
——— strong. They are no jonger 


THE LAKE CAMP. 


the gray trout that sailed in with the tide. Their color is rich 
and high beyond description —backs a glittering bronze, shot 
with gold, and crooked, dark streaks; bellies like pearl, and fins: 
a fan of strong crimson, purple, and black spines. Their dazzling 
vermilion spots ‘‘bid the rash gazer wipe his eye.” As a new 
puzzle for naturalists, some of the largest taken blush all exquisite 
rose wherever white usually shines. The beginning of the fishing 
and the verge of the pirate-pickerel’s range is marked by a grand 
bald crag, towering four hundred feet, and sinking sheer into water, 
christened the Palisade Pool, where very large trout usually lie. 
The next few miles are a favorite preserve, always stocked in the 
season with a succession of splendid fish. The banks, still thickly 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 533 


wooded with larch, 


spruce, sycamore, 
and small shrubs, 
show less of clay 
than those lower 
down, and more of 
pebbly ledge and 
short sandy beach- 
es, so that fishing 
afloat isexchanged 


for wading, which 


insures a longer, 


truer cast, and more ease in 
landing the fish. The long sum- 
mer days of a week may be filled 
with excitement in whipping this 
eet range of twenty or thirty pools. 
So satisfactory is the work, in- 
deed, that they are usually gone over several times on successive 
days from a new camp established near half-way down to the 
great fall, which separates them from the lower range of water 
accessible from the original camp. This is pitched near a curve, just 
below which the river receives two or three cool streamlets into a 
circular basin, parted from its main course by a little stony tongue, 
fringed with bushes, and about thirty yards across. This spring 
pool is a favorite resting-place for trout on the way up, and they 
have been seen literally paving its sandy floor, though its clearness 
and exposure to the sun render them very shy. From this pool, one 
hundred and six fish were taken by one rod in three days, thirteen 
of which weighed over three pounds, and the largest five. 

Sunshine seldom interferes seriously with the sport in this region. 
Days of sullen, cold rain come on, leaving only an hour or two for 
work outside the tent. Sudden thunder-gusts break over us while 
afloat, driving us to the shelter of thick épinettes (dry spruces), 
or even to a pent-house under the canoe, turned bottom up, and 
propped on sticks. Sometimes a strange cloud of thin mist fills the 
valley, that seems to tingle with electricity, and is pungent with the 
smell of ozone. So sensitive the nerves become to that mysteriously 


34a 


534 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


THE OUTLET. 


charged vapor, that one glances at the twig-tips, almost expecting 
to see them lit with St. Elmo’s fire, like yard-arms at sea in an 
electric storm. Only some seasons, however, and some days in 
each, are free from one of the two extremes of too much or too little 
rain. Last summer, for instance, the weather continued so hot and 
dry, and the stream ran so low, that for long stretches not a fish was 
to be found at all in the pools, all having resorted to the mouths of 
little inlets, where they hung clustered like a swarm of bees. Down 
from the middle camp, the canoes go deeply loaded with tents and 
fish, dipping only now and then into an inviting pool, and taking 
some hours to reach a great rapid which seizes the river at the open- 
ing of a gorge and hurls it furiously along half a mile of tangled 
rocks, to plunge it over a steep, picturesque fall thirty feet high. 
Down this rapid the guides will slowly, cautiously pole or lead the 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 535 


canoes, sending the passenger to scramble along a rough path 
among the cliffs, from which he looks down on their dwindled, strug- 
gling figures, and faintly hears their shouts. They meet again at 
the fall, round which, of course, the canoes are portaged, or slid 
down through a side chute, and we have passed pie portal of the 
upper stream, and bid it farewell. 

Three days of the best work for one rod in the upper waters, 
noted on the score in separate years, are: 37 fish of 79 pounds, 41 
fish of 834 pounds, 39 fish of 86% eee 

If the day of coming down to the home pool has been properly 
timed, its evening will be prolonged over the camp-fire to watch the 
full moon rise above a clump of pointed spruces fronting the tent. 
She brings the promise of a new run of fish, filling the pools after 
their week’s rest, with occasional fine trout among them, lingering 
behind the seniors on their way up. A sweet sense of civilization 
attends the return from the deeper forests to bed and board, and the 
camp seems even neat and spacious after rougher quarters. The 
black flies are gone, and the mosquitoes only weakly wicked. Some- 
times at morning frost sprinkles the ground, the days grow cooler, 
and the nights cold, till we sympathize with the man of old who 
cried, “Aha! I am warm; I have seen the fire,” and enjoy the mere 
animal pleasure of heat. The men turn and resalt their fish, stowed 
in broad troughs of hemlock bark. The smell attracts small animals, 
and sometimes there is an alarm in camp that a bear has snuffed 
them out, and running out with the gun in the chilly night air, you 
catch sight of a lynx making off with one in his mouth. The sport 
is still fine; the fish, though not quite of the size of those earlier, 
rising and running with a dash. But the stores are dwindling, the 
canoes get leaky in spite of pitching, and the weather turns windy 
and changeable. The dull boom of the fog-gun from the light-house 
island—thirty miles off on the south shore of the great river—rolls 
oftener up the valley with a warning that autumn mists are gathering 
and autumn storms brewing. There steals on a sense of having been 
a month without telegrams or letters, and suddenly some morn- 
ing you say “enough,” and order the flotilla down to the chaloupe 
with everything not needed for one day more. Next day, after an 
early breakfast, we strike tents, pitch the table and chairs into the 
bushes to save them from spring floods, pack the canoes with what 


536 Sea-Trout Fishing. 


remains to make an ample load, and cast one longing, lingering fly 
behind before pushing into the current. The catch is always very 
good on the way down in point of numbers, but is apt to reduce the 
score as to average of weight. It is not always possible to fish or 
even to pause. Two seasons ago, the river was very full on entering 
it, and after a week’s difficult fishing, it rose steadily, with heavy 
showers, till its olive surface turned ca/é-au-/azt color, and rolled 
bank-full, effacing rocks and rapids alike. Down the middle, it 
tossed in waves over the sunken bowlders. A canoe would quickly 
have foundered there, and we were forced to drift along the margin, 
with the aid of branches, fairly washed out of the valley by the 
torrent. The kingfisher screams along the sands as we pass; per- 
haps a beaver pokes his nose cautiously out among alder roots; or a 
disturbed owl floats silently off into the woods. At length, after 
leisurely and regretfully dropping down for hours, the cha/oupe's thin 
mast points above the next turn, and the quickened paddles cut the 
tide-water, driving the canoes alongside to take possession if she is 
found all right. 

She may be found in quite a different condition. Some seasons 
ago, the men had left her the previous night hauled out into a little 
bay, and anchored on so bad a bottom that when she grounded with 
the falling tide a rock started one of the planks below her quarter, 
and she lay stern under, half full of water, when we boarded her. 
Fishing out her cargo, and drying on the rocks what remained 
unspoiled, was a tedious waste of time; but when lightened and 
pumped out, her planking sprang into place and was easily secured. 
The voyage back oftenest consumes two days and nights against a 
down-stream wind, sometimes strong enough to raise an uncomfort- 
able sea in making the port tack while the tide ebbs, and to drive 
us to some anchorage till it turns. Good and honest fellows as the 
guides are, there is, perhaps, the slightest possible disposition on the 
skipper’s part to lengthen the cruise for his chartered craft by a half 
day or more, so that it is usually early morning when she works 
slowly up with sweeps against the edges of the powerful Saguenay 
current and rounds the point into Tadousac Bay. The summer 
birds have flown from the cottages and hotel—the house seems 
only waiting our return to put out the fire in its hospitable stove 
and close its doors for the season. The steamer leaves L’Anse a 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 537 


OUR SKIPPER. 


lEau for Quebec late in the afternoon, giving time for a substantial 
civilized dinner off other service than tin and for settling the 
accounts of the cruise. 

The usual charge for canoe-men is a dollar and a half a day, in 
gold, and for the chaloufe, with its owner’s services, two dollars. 
A liberal rule for calculation in laying in supplies at Quebec is to 
allow thirty cents for each ration, on the basis of two served to 
every man of the party each day for ordinary stores, with an addi- 
tion for wine and spirits shipped, and for what the Germans call 
delicatessen, from which a quart of lime juice should by no means be 


538 Sea-TLrout Fishing. 


omiited. The average cost of the month’s excursion in each of four 
years—once with three in the party, once with two, and twice alone 
—has been from three hundred and seventy to four hundred dollars, 
including the sum paid for license to use the stream, as for salmon- 
fishing. It results, therefore, that with respect to region, route, 


HOMEWARD BOUND. 


equipment, and expense,—as to all things indeed excepting season, 
tackle, and size of fish,—there is little difference between salmon- 
fishing and sea-trout fishing; and the angler who can choose his 
month will, of course, prefer the former. If forced to content himself 
with the minor sport, he will find that health and experience are no 
less essential to its enjoyment, and that the charms of Nature, impar- 
tially kind to all enthusiastic wooers who seek her wilderness shrine, 
will more than compensate for its comparative tameness. The 
following instances may prove that his record, if modest, is not 
likely to be insignificant; even though it might not provoke 
Mistress Quickly’s comment— 


“T'll warrant you, he’s an infinitive thing on the score.” 


Years. Rods. Days. No. of fish. Weight. Average. Over 3 lbs. 
WW oS} 17 1017 1204 lbs. Tbs ae Oz, 92 
1874 . 2 13 222 274 “ Daa pes 7 
1875. I 10 282 399 “ tr“ 6% “ 14 
1876. I 23 389 560 ‘“ > che Uramamace 26 


Sea-Trout Fishing. 539 


THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, QUEBEC. 


When the angler, recounting these captives of his steel, pictures 
again each bright scene and hour of his summer's recreation, it will 
not be the least of his pleasures to remember that its fruits are aiding 
to make the cheerless life of his guides more endurable, in the long 
winter while those dark forests bow beneath the weight of snows, 
and the stiffening river shivers through all its depths under the blasts 
storming down those stern Laurentian valleys. 


= ER L/-/ Wen. 4 
ty ot 


Wee El Adee YON SE Ne GANA DD Ag 


By JOHN BURROUGHS, 


AUTHOR OF ‘' WINTER SUNSHINE," ‘‘ WAKE ROBIN,” ‘‘' LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY,” ETC. 


HE halcyon, or kingfisher, is a good guide when you go to the 
woods. He will not insure smooth water or fair weather, but 
he knows every stream and lake like ‘a book, and will take 

you to the wildest and most unfrequented places. Follow his rattle, 
and you shail see the source of every trout and salmon stream on 
the continent. You shall see the Lake of Woods, and far-off Atha- 
baska and Abbitibbe, and the unknown streams that flow into Hud- 
son’s Bay, and many others. His time is the time of the trout, too, 
namely, from April to September. He makes his subterranean nest 
in the bank of some favorite stream, and then goes on long excur- 
sions up and down and over woods and mountains to all the waters 
within reach, always fishing alone, the true angler that he is,~his 
fellow keeping far ahead or behind or taking the other branch. He 
loves the sound of a water-fall, and will sit a long time on a dry 
limb overhanging the pool below it, and, forgetting his occupation, 
brood upon his own memories and fancies. 

The past season, my friend and I took a hint from him, and when 
the dog-star began to blaze, set out for Canada, making a big detour 
to touch at salt water and to take New York and Boston on our 
way. 

The latter city was new to me, and we paused there and angled 
a couple of days, and caught an editor, a philosopher, and a poet, 
and might have caught more if we had had a mind to, for these 
waters are full of em, and big ones, too. 


542 The Halcyon in Canada. 


Coming from the mountainous regions of the Hudson, we saw 
little in the way of scenery that arrested our attention until we 
beheld the St. Lawrence, though one gets glimpses now and then 
as he is whirled along through New Hampshire and Vermont that 
make him wish for a fuller view. It is always a pleasure to bring 
to pass the geography of one’s boyhood; ’tis like the fulfilling of a 
dream; hence it was with partial eyes that I looked upon the Merri- 
mac, the Connecticut, and the Passumpsic.—dusky, squaw-colored 
streams, whose names I had learned so long ago. The traveler 
opens his eyes a little wider when he reaches Lake Memphremagog, 
especially if he have the luck to see it under such a sunset as we 
did, its burnished surface glowing like molten gold. This lake is an 
immense trough that accommodates both sides of the fence, though 
the larger and longer part of it by far is in Canada. Its western 
shore is bold and picturesque, being skirted by a detachment of the 
Green Mountains, the main range of which is seen careering along 
the horizon far to the south-west; to the east and north, whither the 
railroad takes you, the country is flat and monotonous. 

The first peculiarity one notices about the farms in this northern 
country is the close proximity of the house and barn, in most cases 
the two buildings touching at some point,—an arrangement doubt- 
less prompted by the deep snows and severe cold of this latitude. 
The typical Canadian dwelling-house is also presently met with on 
entering the Dominion,—a low, modest structure of hewn ‘spruce 
logs, with a steep roof (containing two or more dormer windows) 
that ends in a smart curve, a hint taken from the Chinese pagoda. 
Even in the more costly brick or stone houses in the towns and 
vicinity this style is adhered to. It is so universal that one wonders 
if the reason of it also be not in the climate, the outward curve of the 
roof shooting the sliding snow farther away from the dwelling. It 
affords a wide projection, in many cases covering a veranda, and in 
all cases protecting the doors and windows without interfering with 
the light. In the better class of clap-boarded houses, the finish 
beneath the projecting eaves is also a sweeping curve, opposing and 
bracing that of the roof. A two-story country house or a Mansard 
roof, I do not remember to have seen in Canada; but in places 
they have become so enamored of the white of the snow that 
they even whitewash the roofs of their buildings, giving a cluster 


The Flalcyon tn Canada. 543 


LAKE MEMPHREMAGOG,. 


of them the impression, at a distance, of an encampment of great 
tents. 

As we neared Point Levi, opposite Quebec, we got our first view 
of the St. Lawrence. “Iliad of rivers!” exclaimed my friend. ‘Yet 
unsung!” The Hudson must take a back seat now, and a good 
ways back. One of the two or three great water-courses of the 
globe is before you. No other river, I imagine, carries such a volume 
of pure cold water to the sea. Nearly all its feeders are trout and 
salmon streams, and what an airing and what a bleaching it gets on 
its course. Its history, its antecedents, are unparalleled. The great 
lakes are its camping-grounds; here its hosts repose under the sun 
and stars in areas like that of states and kingdoms, and it is its 
waters that shake the earth at Niagara. Where it receives the 
Saguenay it is twenty miles wide, and when it debouches into the 
Gulf it is a hundred. Indeed, it is a chain of Homeric sublimities 
from beginning to end. The great cataract is a fit sequel to the 
great lakes; the spirit that is born in vast and tempestuous Superior 
takes its full glut of power in that fearful chasm. If paradise is 
hinted in the Thousand Islands, hell is unveiled in that pit of terrors. 

Its last escapade is the great rapids above Montreal, down which 
the steamer shoots with its breathless passengers, after which, in- 
haling and exhaling its mighty tides, it flows calmly to the sea. 


544 the Flalcyon tn Canada. 


ON THE ST. LAWRENCE, NEAR MONTREAL. 


The St. Lawrence is the type of nearly all the Canadian rivers, 
which are strung with lakes and rapids and cataracts, and are full of 
peril and adventure. 

Here we reach the oldest part of the continent, geologists tell 
us, and here we encounter a fragment of the Old World civilization. 
Quebec presents the anomaly of a mediaeval European city in the 
midst of the American landscape. This air, this sky, these clouds, 
these trees, the look of these fields, are what we have always known; 
but these houses, and streets, and vehicles, and language, and 
physiognomy, are strange. As I walked upon the grand terrace, I 
saw the robin and kingbird and song-sparrow, and there in the 
tree, by Wolfe Monument, our summer warbler was at home. I 
presently saw, also, that our Republican crow was a British subject, 
and that he behaved here more like his European brother than he 
does in the States, being less wild and suspicious. On the Plains of 
Abraham, excellent timothy grass was growing and cattle were graz- 
ing. We found a path through the meadow, and, with the exception 
of a very abundant weed with a blue flower, saw nothing new or 
strange,—nothing but the steep, tin roofs of the city and its frown- 
ing wall and citadel. Sweeping around the far southern horizon, we 
could catch glimpses of mountains that were evidently in Maine or 
New Hampshire, while twelve or fifteen miles to the north the 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 545 


Laurentian ranges, dark and formidable, arrested the eye. Quebec, or 
the walled part of it, is situated on a point of land shaped not unlike 
the human foot, looking north-east, the higher and bolder side being 
next the river, with the main part of the town on the northern slope 
toward the St. Charles. Its toes are well down in the mud where 
this stream joins the St. Lawrence, while the citadel is high on the 
instep and commands the whole field. The grand Battery is a little 


IN THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 


below, on the brink of the instep, so to speak, and the promenader 
looks down several hundred feet into the tops of the chimneys of this 
part of the lower town and upon the great river sweeping by north- 
eastward like another Amazon. The heel of our misshapen foot 
extends indefinitely toward Montreal. Upon it, on a level with the 
citadel, are the Plains of Abraham. It was up its high, almost per- 
pendicular, sides that Wolfe clambered with his army, and stood in 
the rear of his enemy one pleasant September morning over a 
hundred years ago. 

To the north and north-east of Quebec, and in full view from the 
upper parts of the city, lies arich belt of agricultural country, sloping 
gently toward the river, and running parallel with it for many miles, 
called the Beauport slopes. The division of the land into uniform 
parallelograms, as in France, was a marked feature, and is so 
throughout the Dominion. A road ran through the midst of it lined 
with trees, and leading to the falls of the Montmorency. | imagine 


35 


546 The Flalcyon in Canada. 


that this section is the garden 
of Quebec. Beyond it rose 
the mountains. Our eyes 
looked wistfully toward them, 
for we had decided to pene- 
trate the Canadian woods in 
that direction. 

One hundred and twenty- 
five miles from Quebec, as 
the loon flies, almost due north, 
over unbroken spruce forests, 
lies Lake St. John, the cradle 
of the terrible Saguenay. On 
the map, it looks like a great 


THE CITADEL AT QUEBEC. 


cuttle-fish, with its numerous arms and_ tentacula reaching out 
in all directions into the wilds. It is a large, oval body of 
water, thirty miles in its greatest diameter. The season here, owing 
to a sharp northern sweep of the isothermal lines, is two or three 
weeks earlier than at Quebec. The soil is warm and fertile, and 
there is a thrifty, growing settlement here, with valuable agricultural 


The Halcyon in Canada. 547 


produce, but no market nearer than Quebec, two hundred and fifty 
miles distant by water, with a hard, tedious land journey besides. 
In winter, the settlement can have little or no communication with 
the outside world. 

To relieve this isolated colony and encourage further develop- 
ment of the St. John region, the Canadian Government is building 
a wagon-road through the wilderness from Quebec directly to the 
lake, thus economizing half the distance, as the road when com- 
pleted will form with the old route, the Saguenay or St. Lawrence, 
one side of an equilateral triangle. A railroad was projected a few 
years ago over nearly the same ground, and the contract to build 
it given to an enterprising Yankee, who pocketed a part of the 
money and has never been heard of since. The road runs for one 
hundred miles through an unbroken wilderness, and opens up scores 
of streams and lakes abounding with trout, into which, until the 
road-makers fished them, no white man had ever cast a hook. 

It was a good prospect, and we resolved to commit ourselves 
to the St. John road. The services of a young fellow, whom by 
reason of his impracticable French name we called Joe, was secured, 
and after a delay of twenty-four hours we were packed upon a 
Canadian buckboard, with hard-tack in one bag and oats in another, 
and the journey began. It was Sunday, and we held up our heads 
more confidently when we got beyond the throng of well-dressed 
church-goers. For ten miles, we had a good stone road and rattled 
along it at a lively pace. In about half that distance we came to 
a large brick church, where we began to see the rural population, 
or habitans. They came mostly in two-wheeled vehicles, some of 
the carts quite fancy, in which the young fellows rode complacently 
beside their girls. The two-wheeler predominates in Canada and 
is of all styles and sizes. After we left the stone road, we began 
to encounter the hills that are preliminary to the mountains. The 
farms looked like the wilder and poorer parts of Maine or New 
Hampshire. While Joe was getting a supply of hay of a farmer to 
take into the woods for his horse, I walked through a field in quest 
of wild strawberries. The season for them was past, it being the 
2oth of July, and I found barely enough to make me think that 
the strawberry here is far less pungent and high-flavored than 
with us. 


548 The Halcyon in Canada. 


A CALECHE, 


The cattle in the fields and by the road-side looked very small 
and delicate, the effect, no doubt, of the severe climate. We saw 
many rude implements of agriculture,—such as wooden plows shod 
with iron. We passed several parties of men, women, and children 
from Quebec, picnicking in the “bush.” Here it was little more 
than a ‘‘bush”; but while in Canada, we never heard the woods 
designated by any other term. I noticed, also, that when a distance 
of a few miles or of a fraction of a mile is to be designated, the French 
Canadian does not use the term miles, but says it’s so many acres 
through or to the next place. 


The Flalcyon tn Canada. 549 


This fondness for thé “bush” at this season seems quite a marked 
feature in the social life of the average Quebecer, and is one of the 
original French traits that holds its own among them. Parties leave 
the city in carts and wagons by midnight, or earlier, and drive out 
as far as they can the remainder of the night, in order to pass the 
whole Sunday in the woods, despite the mosquitoes and black flies. 
Those we saw seemed a decent, harmless set, whose idea of a good 
time was to be in the open air, and as far into the ‘‘bush” as 
possible. 

The post-road, as the new St. John’s road is also called, begins 
twenty miles from Quebec at Stoneham, the farthest settlement. 
Five miles into the forest upon the new road is the hamlet of La 
Chance (pronounced La Shaunce), the last house till you reach the 
lake, one hundred and twenty miles distant. Our destination the 
first night was La Chance’s; this would enable us to reach the 
Jacques Cartier River, forty miles farther, where we proposed to 
encamp, in the afternoon of the next day. We were now fairly 
among the mountains, and the sun was well down behind the trees 
when we entered upon the post-road. It proved to be a wide, well- 
built highway, grass-grown, but in good condition. After an hour’s 
travel we began to see signs of a clearing, and about six o’clock 
drew up in front of the long, low, log habitation of La Chance. 
Their hearth-stone was outdoor at this season, and its smoke rose 
through the still atmosphere in a frail column toward the sky. 
The family was gathered here, and welcomed us cordially as we 
drew up, the master shaking us by the hand as if we were old 
friends. His English was very poor, and our French was poorer ; 
but with Joe as a bridge between us, communication on a pitch was 
kept up. His wife could speak no English; but here true French 
politeness and graciousness was a language we could readily under- 
stand. Our supper was got ready from our own supplies, while we 
sat or stood in the open air about the fire. The clearing comprised 
fifty or sixty acres of rough land in the bottom of a narrow valley, and 
bore indifferent crops of oats, barley, potatoes, and timothy grass. 
The latter was just in bloom, being a month or more later than with 
us. The primitive woods, mostly of birch, with a sprinkling of spruce, 
put a high cavernous wall about the scene. How sweetly the birds 
sang, their notes seeming to have unusual strength and volume in 
A 


wn 


zs 
re) 


550 The Halcyon wn Canada. 


a 


weet 
aN 6 — 


A CANADIAN INTERIOR. 


this forest-bound opening! The principal singer was the white- 
throated sparrow, which we heard and saw everywhere on the route. 
He is called here /a szfflewr—the whistler, and very delightful his 
whistle was. From the forest came the evening hymn of a thrush,— 
the olive-backed, perhaps,—like, but less clear and full than, ‘the 
veerie’s. 

In the evening, we sat about the fire in rude home-made chairs, 
and had such broken and disjointed talk as we could manage. Our 
host had lived in Quebec, and been a school-teacher there; he had 
wielded the birch until he lost his health, when he came here and 
the birches gave it back to him. He was now hearty and well, and 
had a family of six or seven children about him. 

We were given a good bed that night, and fared better than we 
expected. About one o'clock, | was awakened by suppressed voices 
outside the window. Who could it be? Had a band of brigands 
surrounded the house? As our outfit and supplies had not been 
removed from the wagon in front of the door, I got up, and, lifting 
one corner of the window paper, peeped out. I saw in the dim moon- 
light four or five men engaged in low conversation. Presently, one 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 551 


of the men advanced to the door and began to rap and call the name 
of our host. Then I knew their errand was not hostile; but the 
weird effect of that regular alternate rapping and calling ran through 
my dream all the rest of the night, Rat-tat, tat, tat— La Chance. Rat- 
tat, tat— La Chance, five or six times repeated, before La Chance 
heard and responded. Then the door opened and they came in, 
when it was jabber, jabber, jabber in the next room till I fell asleep. 

In the morning, to my inquiry as to who the travelers were and 
what they wanted, La Chance said they were old acquaintances 
going a-fishing and had stopped to have a little talk. 

Breakfast was served early and we were upon the road before 
the sun. Then began a forty-mile ride through a dense Canadian 
spruce forest over the drift and bowlders of the paleozoic age. Up 
to this point, the scenery had been quite familiar,—not much unlike 
that of the Catskills,—but now there was a change; the birches dis- 
appeared, except now and then a slender white or paper birch, and 
spruce everywhere prevailed. A narrow belt on each side of the 
road had been blasted by fire, and the dry, white stems of the 
trees stood stark and stiff. The road ran pretty straight, skirting 
the mountains and treading the valleys, and hour after hour the 
dark, silent woods wheeled past us. Swarms of black flies—those 
insect wolves—-waylaid us, and hung to us till a smart spurt of the 
horse, where the road favored, left them behind. But a species of 
large horse-fly, black and vicious, it was not so easy to get rid 
of. When they alighted upon the horse, we would demolish them 
with the whip or with our felt hats, a proceeding the horse soon 
came to understand and appreciate. The white and gray Laurentian 
bowlders lay along the road-side. The soil seemed as if made up 
of decayed and pulverized rock, and doubtless contained very little 
vegetable matter. It is so barren that it will never repay clearing 
and cultivating. 

Our courSe was an up-grade toward the highlands that separate 
the water-shed of St. John Lake from that of the St. Lawrence ; 
and as we proceeded, the spruce became smaller and smaller till 
the trees were seldom more than eight or ten inches in diameter. 
Nearly all of them terminated in a dense tuft at the top, beneath 
which the stem would be bare for several feet, giving them the 
appearance, my friend said, as they stood sharply defined along the 


552 The Halcyon tn Canada. 


crests of the mountains, of cannon-swabs. Endless, interminable 
successions of these cannon-swabs, each just like its fellow, came and 
went, came and went, all day. Sometimes we could see the road a 
mile or two ahead, and it was as lonely and solitary as a path in the 
desert. Periods of talk and song and jollity were succeeded by long 
stretches of silence. A buckboard upon such a road does not con- 
duce to a continuous flow of animal spirits. A good brace for 
the foot and a good hold for the hand is one’s main lookout much 
of the time. We walked up the steeper hills, one of them nearly 
a mile long, 
descent of the other side. 


then clung grimly to the board during the rapid 


We occasionally saw a solitary pigeon—in every instance a cock 
—leading a forlorn life in the wood, a hermit of his kind, or, more 
probably, a rejected and superfluous male. We came upon two or 
three broods of spruce-grouse in the road, so tame that one could 
have knocked them over with poles. We passed many beautiful 
lakes ; among others, the Two Sisters, one on each side of the road. 
At noon, we paused at a lake in a deep valley, and fed the horse and 
had lunch. I was not long in getting ready my fishing-tackle, and 
upon a raft made of two logs pinned together floated out upon the 
lake and quickly took all the trout we wanted. 

Early in the afternoon, we entered upon what is called La Grand 
Brulure, or Great Burning, and to the desolation of living woods 
succeeded the greater desolation of a blighted forest. All the 
mountains and valleys, as far as the eye could see, had been swept 
by the fire, and the bleached and ghostly skeletons of the trees 
alone met the gaze. The fire had come over from the Saguenay, 
a hundred or more miles to the east, seven or eight years before, 
and had consumed or blasted everything in its way. We saw the 
skull of a moose said to have perished in the fire. For three 
hours we rode through this valley and shadow of death. In the 
midst of it, where the trees had nearly all disappeared, and where 
the ground was covered with coarse, wild grass, we came upon the 
Morancy River, a placid yellow stream, twenty or twenty-five yards 
wide, abounding with trout. We walked a short distance along its 
banks and peered curiously into its waters. The mountains on 
either hand had been burned by the fire until in places their great 
granite bones were bare and white. 


The Flalcyon wn Canada. 553 


At another point, we were within ear-shot for a mile or more of 
a brawling stream in the valley below us, and now and then caught a 
glimpse of foaming rapids or cascades through the dense spruce,— 
a trout stream that probably no man had ever fished, as it would be 
quite impossible to do so in such a maze and tangle of wood. 

We neither met nor passed nor saw any travelers until late in 
the afternoon, when we descried, far ahead, a man on _ horseback. 
It was a welcome relief. It was like a sail at sea. When he saw 
us, he drew rein and awaited our approach. He, too, had probably 
tired of the solitude and desolation of the road. He proved to be 
a young Canadian going to join the gang of workmen at the far- 
ther end of the road. 

About four o’clock, we passed another small lake, and in a few 
moments more drew up at the bridge over the Jacques Cartier River, 
and our forty-mile ride was finished. There was a stable here that 
had been used by the road-builders and was now used by the teams 
that hauled in their supplies. This would do for the horse ; a snug 
log shanty, built by an old trapper and hunter for use in the winter, 
a hundred yards below the bridge, amid the spruces on the bank of 
the river, when rebedded and refurnished, would do for us. The river 
at this point wasa swift, black stream from thirty to forty feet wide, 
with a strength anda bound like a moose. It was not shrunken and 
emaciated, like similar streams in a cleared country, but full, copious, 
and strong. Indeed, one can hardly realize how the lesser water- 
courses have suffered by the denuding of the land of its forest cover- 
ing, until he goes into the primitive woods and sees how bounding and 
athletic they are there. They are literally well fed, and their measure 
of life is full. In fact, a trout brook is as much a thing of the woods 
as a moose or deer and will not thrive well in the open country. 

Three miles above our camp was Great Lake Jacques Cartier, 
the source of the river, a sheet of water nine miles long and from one 
to three wide; fifty rods below was Little Lake Jacques Cartier, an 
irregular body about two miles across. Stretching away on every 
hand, bristling on the mountains and darkling in the valleys, was the 
illimitable spruce woods. The moss in them covered the ground 
nearly knee-deep, and lay like newly fallen snow, hiding rocks and 
logs, filling depressions, and muffling the foot. When it was dry, one 
could find a most delightful couch anywhere. 


554 The Halcyon tn Canada. 


The spruce seems to have colored the water, which is a dark 
amber color, but entirely sweet and pure. There needed no better 
proof of the latter fact than the trout with which it abounded and 
their clear and vivid tints. In its lower portions, near the St. Law- 
rence, the Jacques Cartier River is a salmon stream; but these fish 
have never been found as near its source as we were, though there 
is no apparent reason why they should not be. 

There is, perhaps, no moment in the life of an angler fraught with 
so much eagerness and impatience as when he first finds himself upon 
the bank of a new and long-sought stream. When I was a boy and 
used to go a-fishing, I could seldom restrain my eagerness after | 
arrived in sight of the brook or pond, and must needs run the rest of 
the way. Then the delay in rigging my tackle was a trial my patience 
was never quite equal to. After I had made a few casts, or had caught 
one fish, I could pause and adjust my line properly. I found some 
remnant of the old enthusiasm still in me when I sprang from the 
buckboard that afternoon and saw the strange river rushing by. 
I would have given something if my tackle had been rigged so that I 
could have tried on the instant the temper of the trout that had just 
broken the surface within easy reach of the shore. But I had antici- 
pated this moment coming along, and had surreptitiously undone 
my rod-case and got my reel out of my bag, and was therefore a few 
moments ahead of my companion in making the first cast. The 
trout rose readily ; and, almost too soon, we had more than enough 
for dinner, though no “rod-smashers” had been seen or felt. Our 
experience the next morning and during the day, and the next 
morning in the lake, in the rapids, in the pools, was about the same ; 
there was a surfeit of trout eight or ten inches long, though we rarely 
kept any under ten; but the big fish were lazy and would not rise: 
they were in the deepest water, and did not like to get up. 

The third day, in the afternoon, we had our first and only thor- 
ough sensation in the shape of a big trout. It came none too soon. 
The interest had begun to flag. But one big fish a week will do. 
It is a pinnacle of delight in the angler’s experience that he may 
well be three days in working up to, and, once reached, it is three 
days down to the old humdrum level again. At least, it is with me. 
It was a dull, rainy day; the fog rested low upon the mountains, and 
the time hung heavily upon our hands. About three o’clock, the rain 


The Flalcyon wn Canada. 555 


slackened and we emerged from our den, Joe going to look after his 
horse, which had eaten but little since coming into the woods, the 
poor creature was so disturbed by the loneliness and the black flies ; 
I to make preparations for dinner, while my companion lazily 
took his rod and stepped to the edge of the big pool in front of the 
camp. At the first introductory cast, and when his fly was not 
fifteen feet from him upon the water, there was a lunge and a 
strike, and apparently the fisherman had hooked a bowlder. I 
was standing a few yards below, engaged in washing out the 
coffee-pail, when I heard him call out: 

“T have got him now!” 

“Yes, I see you have,” said I, noticing his bending pole and 
moveless line; ‘when I am through, I will help you get loose.” 

“No; but I’m not joking,” said he; “I have got a big fish.” 

I looked up again, but saw no reason to change my impression, 
and kept on with my work. 

It is proper to say that my companion was a novice at fly-fishing, 
he never having cast a fly till upon this trip. 

Again he called out to me; but, deceived by his coolness and non- 
chalant tones, and by the lethargy of the fish, I gave little heed. 1 
knew very well that if I had struck a fish that held me down in that 
way, I should have been going through a regular war-dance on that 
circle of bowlder-tops, and should have scared the game into activity, 
if the hook had failed to wake him up. But as the farce continued, I 
drew near. 

“Does that look like a stone or a log?” said my friend, pointing 
to his quivering line, slowly cutting the current up toward the center 
of the pool. 

My skepticism vanished in an instant, and I could hardly keep 
my place on the top of the rock. 

“T can feel him breathe,” said the now warming fisherman; ‘just 
feel of that pole.” 

I put my eager hand upon the butt, and could easily imagine I 
felt the throb or pant of something alive down there in the black 
depths. But whatever it was moved about like a turtle. My com- 
panion was praying to hear his reel spin, but it gave out now and 
then only a few hesitating clicks. Still, the situation was excitingly 
dramatic, and we were all actors. I rushed for the landing-net, but 


556 The Hlalcyon tn Canada. 


being unable to find it, shouted desperately for Joey who came hur- 
rying back, excited before he had learned what the matter was. 
The net had been left at the lake below and must be had with the 
greatest dispatch. In the meantime, | skipped about from bowlder to 
bowlder as the fish worked this way or that about the pool, peering 
into the water to catch a glimpse of him, for he had begun to yield 
a little to the steady strain that was kept upon him. Presently I saw 
a shadowy, unsubstantial something just emerge from the black 
depths, then vanish. Then | saw it again, and this time the huge 
proportions of the fish were faintly outlined by the white facings of 
his fins. The sketch lasted but a twinkling; it was only a flitting 
shadow upon a darker background, but it gave me the profoundest 
Ike Walton thrill | ever experienced. I had been a fisher from my 
earliest boyhood; I came from a race of fishers; trout streams 
gurgled about the roots of the’family tree, and there was a long 
accumulated and transmitted tendency and desire in me that that 
sight gratified. I did not wish the pole in my own hands; there 
was quite enough electricity overflowing from it and filling the air 
for me. The fish yielded more and more to the relentless pole, till 
in about fifteen minutes from the time he was struck, he came to the 
surface, then made a little whirlpool where he disappeared again. 
But presently he was up a second time and lashing the water into 
foam as the angler led him toward the rock upon which I was 
perched, net in hand. As I reached toward him, down he went 
again, and, taking another circle of the pool, came up still more 
exhausted, when, between his paroxysms, | carefully ran the net over 
him and lifted him ashore, amid, it is needless to say, the wildest 
enthusiasm of the spectators. The congratulatory laughter of the 
loons down on the lake showed how even the outsiders sympathized. 
Much larger trout have been taken in these waters and in others, 
but this fish would have swallowed any three we had ever before 
caught. 

“What does he weigh?” was the natural inquiry of each; and 
we took turns “hefting” him. But gravity was less potent to us 
just then than usual, and the fish seemed astonishingly light. , 

‘Four pounds,” we said; but Joe said more. So we improvised 
ascale. A long strip of board was balanced across a stick, and our 
groceries served as weights. A four-pound package of sugar kicked 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 557 


the beam quickly ; a pound of coffee was added; still it went up ; 
then a pound of tea, and still the fish had a little the best of it. But 
we called it six pounds, not to drive too sharp a bargain with fortune, 
and was more than satisfied. Such a beautiful creature! marked in 
every respect like a trout of six inches. We feasted our eyes upon 
him for half an hour. We stretched him upon the ground and 
admired him; we laid him across a log and withdrew a few paces 
and admired him; we hung him against the shanty and turned our 
heads from side to side as women do when they are selecting dress- 
goods, the better to take in the full force of the effect. 

He graced the board, or stump, that afternoon and was the 
sweetest fish we had taken. The flesh was a deep salmon color and 
very rich. We had before discovered that there were two varieties 
of trout in these waters, irrespective of size,—the red-fleshed and 


the white-fleshed,—and that the former were best. 

This success gave an impetus to our sport that carried us through 
the rest of the week finely. We had demonstrated that there were 
big trout here, and that they would rise to a fly. Henceforth, big 
fish were looked to as a possible result of every excursion. To me, 
especially, the desire to at least match my companion, who had been 
my pupil in the art, was keen and constant. We built a raft of logs, 
and upon it I floated out upon the lake, whipping its waters right 
and left, morning, noon, and night. Many fine trout came to my 
hand, and were released because they did not fill the bill. 

The lake became my favorite resort, while my companion pre- 
ferred rather the shore or the long, still pool above, where there was 
a rude make-shift of a boat, made of common box-boards. 

Upon the lake, you had the wildness and solitude at arms-length 
and could better take their look and measure. You became some- 
thing apart from them; you emerged and had a vantage-ground like 
that of a mountain peak, and could contemplate them at your ease. 
Seated upon my raft, and slowly carried by the current or drifted by 
the breeze, | had many a long, silent look into the face of the wilder- 
ness, and found the communion good. I was alone with the spirit 
of the forest-bound lakes and felt its presence and magnetism. [| 
played hide-and-seek with it about the nooks and corners, and lay in 
wait for it upon a little island, crowned with a clump of trees, that 
was moored just to one side the current near the head of the lake. 


558 The Halcyon in Canada. 


Indeed, there is no depth of solitude that the mind does not endow 
with some human interest. As in a dead silence the ear is filled with 
its own murmur, so amid these aboriginal scenes one’s feelings and 
sympathies become external to him, as it were, and he holds con- 
verse with them. Thena lake is the ear as well as the eye of a 
forest. It is the place to go to listen and ascertain what sounds 
are abroad in the air. They all run quickly thither and report. If 
any creature had called in the forest for miles about I should have 
heard it. At times, I could hear the distant roar of water off beyond 
the outlet of the lake. The sound of the vagrant winds purring here 
and there in the tops of the spruces reached my ear. A breeze 
would come slowly down the mountain, then strike the lake, and I 
could see its footsteps approaching, by the changed appearance of the 
water. How slowly the winds move at times, sauntering like one 
on a Sunday walk! A breeze always enlivens the fish ; a dead calm, 
and all pennants sink; your activity with your fly is ill-timed, and 
you soon take the hint and stop. Becalmed upon my raft, I observed, 
as I have often done before, that the life of nature ebbs and flows, 
comes and departs, in these wilderness scenes ; one moment her stage 
is thronged and the next quite deserted. Then there is a wonderful 
unity of movement in the two elements, air and water. When there 
is much going on in one, there is quite sure to be much going on in 
the other. You have been casting, perhaps, for an hour with scarcely 
a jump or any sign of life anywhere about you, when presently the 
breeze freshens, and the trout begin to respond, and then of a sudden 
all the performers rush in; ducks come sweeping by, loons laugh and 
wheel overhead, then approach the water on a long, gentle incline, 
plowing deeper and deeper into its surface until their momentum is 
arrested or converted into foam; the fish-hawk screams, the bald 
eagle goes flapping by, and your eyes and hands are full. Then the 
tide ebbs, and both fish and fowl are gone. 

Patiently whipping the waters of the lake from my rude float, 
I became an object of great interest to the loons. I had never 
seen these birds before in their proper habitat, and the interest 
was mutual. When they had paused on the Hudson during their 
spring and fall migrations, | had pursued them in my boat to try 
to get near them. Now the case was reversed; I was the inter- 
loper now, and they would come out and study me. Sometimes 


The Flalcyon in Canada. 559 


six or eight of them would be swimming about watching my 
movements, but they were wary and made a wide circle. One 
day, one of their number volunteered to make a thorough recon- 
noissance. I saw him leave his comrades and swim straight toward 
me. He came, bringing first one eye to bear upon me, then the 
other. When about half the distance was passed over, he began to 
waver and hesitate. To encourage him I stopped casting, and taking 
off my hat, began to wave it slowly to and fro, as in the act of fanning 
myself. This started him again,—this was a new trait in the creat- 
ure that he must scrutinize more closely. On he came, till all his 
markings were distinctly seen. With one hand I pulled a little 
revolver from my hip pocket, and when the loon was about fifty 
yards distant and had begun to sidle around me, I fired. At the 
flash I saw two webbed feet twinkle in the air, and the loon was 
gone! Lead could not have gone down so quickly. The bullet cut 
across the circles where he disappeared. In a few moments he re-ap- 
peared a couple of hundred yards away. ‘‘ Ha-ha-ha-a-a,” said he ; 
“ha-ha-ha-a-a” and ‘“ha-ha-ha-aa,” said his comrades, who had 
been looking on; and ‘“ha-ha-ha-a-a,” said we all, echo included. 
‘He approached a second time, but not so closely, and when I began 
to creep back toward the shore with my heavy craft, pawing the 
water first upon one side, then the other, he followed, and with 
ironical laughter witnessed my efforts to stem the current at the 
head of the lake. I confess it was enough to make a more solemn 
bird than the loon laugh; but it was no fun for me, and generally 
required my last pound of steam. 

The loons flew back and forth from one lake to the other, and 
their voices were about the only notable wild sounds to be heard. 

One afternoon, quite unexpectedly, I struck my big fish, in the 
head of the lake. I was first advised of his approach by two or 
three trout jumping clear from the water to get out of his lord- 
ship’s way. The water was not deep just there, and he swam so 
near the surface that his enormous back cut through. With a swirl 
he swept my fly under and turned. My hook was too near home, 
and my rod too near a perpendicular, to strike well. More than that, 
my presence of mind came near being unhorsed by the sudden 
apparition of the fish. If I could have had a moment's notice, or 
if I had not seen the monster, | should have fared better and the 


560 The Hlalcyon tn Canada. 


fish worse. I struck, but not with enough decision, and before I 
could reel up, my empty hook came back. The trout had carried it 
in his jaws till the fraud was detected and then spat it out. He 
came a second time, and made a grand commotion in the water, 
but not in my nerves, for I was ready then, but failed to take the 
fly and so to get his weight and beauty in these pages. As my 
luck failed me at the last, 1 will place my loss at the full extent of 
the law, and claim that nothing less than a ten-pounder was spirited 
away from my hand that day. I might not have saved him, netless 
as I was upon my cumbrous raft; but I should at least have had 
the glory of the fight and the consolation of the fairly vanquished. 

These trout are not properly lake-trout, but the common brook- 
trout (.S. fontanalis). The largest ones are taken with live bait 
through the ice in winter. The Indians and the fadztans bring 
them out of the wood from here and from Snow Lake on their 
toboggans, from two and a half to three feet long. They have 
kinks and ways of their own. About half a mile above camp, we 
discovered a deep oval bay to one side the main current of the river, 
that evidently abounded in big fish. Here they disported them- 
selves. It was a favorite feeding-ground, and late every afternoon 
the fish rose all about it, making those big ripples the angler delights 
to see. A trout, when he comes to the surface, starts a ring about 
his own length in diameter; most of the rings in the pool, when 
the eye caught them, were like barrel-hoops, but the haughty trout 
ignored all our best efforts; not one rise did we get. We were 
told of this pool on our return to Quebec, and that other anglers 
had a similar experience there. But occasionally some old fisher- 
man, like a great advocate who loves a difficult case, would set his 
wits to work and bring into camp an enormous trout taken there. 

I had been told in Quebec that I would not see a bird in the 
woods, not a feather of any kind. But I knew I should, though 
they were not numerous. I saw and heard a bird nearly every day 
on the tops of the trees about, that I think was one of the cross-bills. 
The kingfisher was there ahead of us with his loud clicking reel. 
The osprey was there, too, and I saw him abusing the bald eagle, who 
had probably just robbed him of a fish. The yellow-rumped warbler 
I saw, and one of the kinglets was leading its lisping brood about 
through the spruces. In every opening, the white-throated sparrow 


The Halcyon in Canada. 561 


HAWK AND KINGBIRD. 


abounded, striking up his clear, sweet whistle at times so loud and 
sudden that one’s momentary impression was that some farm-boy 
was approaching or was secreted there behind the logs. Many 
times, amid those primitive solitudes, I was quite startled by the 
human tone and quality of this whistle. It is little more than a 
beginning; the bird never seems to finish the strain suggested. 
The Canada jay was there also, very busy about some important 
private matter. 

One lowery morning as I was standing in camp, I saw a lot of 
ducks borne swiftly down by the current around the bend in the 
river a few rods above. They saw me at the same instant and 
turned toward the shore. On hastening up there, I found the old 
bird rapidly leading her nearly grown brood through the woods, as 

36 


562 The Halcyon in Canada. 


if to go around our camp. As I pursued them, they ran squawking 
with outstretched stubby wings, scattering right and left, and seek- 
ing a hiding-place under the logs and débris. I captured one and 
carried it into camp. It was just what Joe wanted; it would make 
a valuable decoy. So he kept it in a box, fed it upon oats, and took 
it out of the woods with him. 

We found the camp we had appropriated was a favorite stopping- 
place of the carmen who hauled in supplies for the gang of two 
hundred road-builders. One rainy day, near night-fall, no less than 
eight carts drew up at the old stable, and the rain-soaked drivers, 
after picketing and feeding their horses, came down to our fire. We 
were away, and Joe met us on our return with the unwelcome news. 
We kept open house so far as the fire was concerned; but our roof 
was a narrow one at the best, and one or two leaky spots made it 
still narrower, 

“We shall probably sleep out-of-doors to-night,” said my com- 
panion, “unless we are a match for this posse of rough teamsters.” 

But the men proved to be much more peaceably disposed than 
the same class at home; they apologized for intruding, pleading the 
inclemency of the weather, and were quite willing, with our permis- 
sion, to take up with pot-luck about the fire and leave us the shanty. 
They dried their clothes upon poles and logs, and had their fun and 
their bantering amid it all. An Irishman among them did about the 
only growling; he invited himself into our quarters, and before 
morning had Joe’s blanket about him in addition to his own. 

On Friday, we made an excursion to Great Lake Jacques Cartier, 
paddling and poling up the river in the rude box-boat. It was a 
bright, still morning after the rain, and everything had a new, fresh 
appearance. Expectation was ever on tiptoe, as each turn in the 
river opened a new prospect before us. How wild and shaggy and 
silent it was! What fascinating pools, what tempting stretches of 
trout-haunted water! Now and then we would catch a glimpse of 
long black shadows starting away from the boat and shooting through 
the sunlit depths; but no sound or motion on shore was heard or 
seen. Near the lake we came to a long, shallow rapid, when we 
pulled off our shoes and stockings, and, with our trowsers rolled up 
above our knees, towed the boat up it, wincing and cringing amid 
the sharp, slippery stones. With benumbed feet and legs, we reached 


The Flalcyon tn Canada. 563 


ON THE WAY TO THE RIVER. 


the still water that forms the stem of the lake, and presently saw the 
arms of the wilderness open and the long, deep-blue expanse in their 
embrace. We rested and bathed, and gladdened our eyes with the 
singularly beautiful prospect. The shadows of summer clouds were 
slowly creeping up and down the sides of the mountains that hemmed 
it in. On the far eastern shore, near the head, banks of what was 


564 The Halcyon tn Canada. 


doubtless white sand shone dimly in the 
sun, and the illusion that there was a 
town nestled there haunted my mind 
constantly. It was like a section of the 
Hudson below the Highlands, except 


ALONG THE HUDSON, 


that these waters were bluer and colder, 
and these shores darker than even Sir Hendrick first looked upon ; 
but surely, one felt, a steamer will round that point presently, or a 
sail drift into view! We paddled a mile or more up the east shore, 
then across to the west, and found such pleasure in simply gazing 
upon the scene that our rods were quite neglected. We did some 
casting after awhile, but raised no fish of any consequence till we 
were in the outlet again, when they responded so freely that the 
“disgust of trout” was soon upon us. 

At the rapids, on our return, as I was standing to my knees in 
the swift, cold current and casting into a deep hole behind a huge 


The Halcyon in Canada. 565 


bowlder that rose four or five feet above the water amid-stream, two 
trout, one of them a large one, took my flies; and finding the fish 
and the current united too strong for my tackle, I sought to gain the 
top of the bowlder, in which attempt I got wet to my middle and 
lost my fish. After I had gained the rock, I could not get away 


again with my clothes on without swimming; which, to say nothing 


Se; 
of wet garments the rest of the way home, I did not like to do amid 
those rocks and swift currents; so, after a vain attempt to communi- 
cate with my companion above the roar of the water, | removed my 
clothing, left them together with my tackle upon the rock, and by a 
strong effort stemmed the current and reached the shore. The boat 
was a hundred yards above, and when I arrived there my teeth were 
chattering with the cold, my feet were numb with bruises, and the 
black flies were making the blood stream down my back. We 
hastened back with the boat, and by wading out into the current 
again and holding it by a long rope, it swung around with my 
companion aboard, and was held in the eddy behind the rock. I 
clambered up, got my clothes on, and we were soon shooting down- 
stream toward home ; but the winter of discontent that shrouded one- 
half of me made sad inroads upon the placid feeling of a day well 
spent that enveloped the other, all the way to camp. 

That night something carried off all our fish,—doubtless a fisher 
or lynx, as Joe had seen an animal of some kind about camp that day. 

I must not forget the two red squirrels that frequented the camp 
during our stay, and that were so tame they would approach within a 
few feet of us and take the pieces of bread or fish tossed to them. 

When a particularly fine piece of hard-tack was secured, they 
would spin off to their den with it somewhere near by. 

Caribou abound in these woods, but we saw only their tracks ; 
and of bears, which are said to be plentiful, we saw no signs. 

Saturday morning, we packed up our traps and started on our 
return, and found that the other side of the spruce-trees and the 
vista of the lonely road going south were about the same as coming 
north. But we understood the road better and the buckboard bet- 
ter, and our load was lighter, hence the distance was easier accom- 
plished. 

I saw a solitary robin by the road-side, and wondered what 
could have brought this social and half-domesticated bird so far 

36a 


566 The Halcyon in Canada. 


7 


into these wilds. In La Grand Brulure, a hermit-thrush perched 
upon a dry tree in a swampy place and sang most divinely. We 
paused to listen to his clear, silvery strain, poured out without stint 
upon that unlistening solitude. I was half persuaded I had heard 
him before on first entering the woods. 

We nooned again at No Man’s Inn, on the banks of a trout 
lake, and fared well and had no reckoning to pay. Late in the 
afternoon, we saw a lonely pedestrian laboring up a hill far ahead 
of us. When he heard us coming he leaned his back against the 
bank, and was lighting his pipe as we passed. He was an old 
man, an Irishman, and looked tired. He had come from the far- 
ther end of the road, fifty miles distant, and had thirty yet before 
him to reach town. He looked the dismay he evidently felt, when, 
in answer to his inquiry, we told him it was yet ten miles to the 
first house, La Chance’s. But there was a roof nearer than that, 
where he doubtless passed the night, for he did not claim hospital- 
ity at the cabin of La Chance. We arrived there betimes, but found 
the “spare bed” assigned to other guests; so we were comfortably 
lodged upon the haymow. One of the boys lighted us up with a 
candle, and made level places for us upon the hay. 

La Chance was one of the game wardens or constables appointed 
by the Government to see the game laws enforced. Joe had not felt 
entirely at his ease about the duck he was surreptitiously taking to 
town, and when, by its ‘‘quack,” ‘‘ quack,” it called upon La Chance 
for protection, he responded at once. Joe was obliged to liberate it 
then and there, and to hear the law read and expounded, and be 
threatened till he turned pale besides. It was evident that they follow 
the Home Government in the absurd practice of enforcing their laws 
in Canada. La Chance said he was under oath not to wink at or 
permit any violation of the law, and seemed to think that made a 
difference. 

We were off early in the morning, and before we had gone two 
miles met a party from Quebec who must have been driving nearly 
all night to give the black flies an early breakfast. Before long, a 
slow rain set in; we saw another party who had taken refuge in a 
house in a grove. When the rain had become so brisk that we 
began to think of seeking shelter ourselves, we passed a party of 
young men and boys—sixteen of them—in a cart turning back to 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 567 


town, water-soaked and heavy (for the poor horse had all it could 
pull), but merry and good-natured. We paused awhile at the farm- 
house where we had got our hay on going out, were treated to a 
drink of milk and some wild red cherries, and when the rain slack- 
ened drove on, and by ten o'clock saw the city, eight miles distant, 
with the sun shining upon its steep, tinned roofs. 

The next morning, we set out per steamer for the Saguenay, and 
entered upon the second phase of our travels, but with less relish 
than we could have wished. Scenery-hunting is the least satisfying 
pursuit I have ever engaged in. What one sees in his necessary 
travels, or doing his work, or going a-fishing, seems worth while; 
but the famous view you go out in cold blood to admire is quite apt 
to elude you. Nature loves to enter a door another hand has opened; 
a mountain view, or a water-fall, | have noticed, never looks better 
than when one has just been warmed up by the capture of a big 
trout. If we had been bound for some salmon-stream up the Sague- 
nay, we should perhaps have possessed that generous and receptive 
frame of mind—that open house of the heart—which makes one 
“eligible to any good fortune,” and the grand scenery would have 
come in as fit sauce to the salmon. An adventure, a bit of experi- 
ence of some kind, is what one wants when he goes forth to admire 
woods and waters,—something to create a draught and make the 
embers of thought and feeling brighten. Nature, like certain wary 
game, is best taken by seeming to pass by her, intent on other 
matters. 

But without any such errand, or occupation, or indirection, we 
managed to extract considerable satisfaction from the view of the 
lower St. Lawrence and the Saguenay. 

We had not paid the customary visit to the falls of the Mont- 
morency, but we shall see them after all, for before we are a league 
from Quebec they come into view on the left. A dark glen or 
chasm there at the end of the Beaufort Slopes seems suddenly to 
have put on a long white apron. By intently gazing, one can see 
the motion and falling of the water, though it is six or seven miles 
away. ‘There is no sign of the river above or below but this trem- 
bling white curtain of foam and spray. 

It was very sultry when we left Quebec, but about noon we 
struck much clearer and cooler air, and soon after ran into an im- 


568 The Halcyon in Canada. 


mense wave or puff of fog that came drifting up the river and set all 
the fog-guns booming along shore. We were soon through it into 
clear, crisp space, with room enough for any eye to range in. On 
the south, the shores of the great river appear low and uninteresting, 
but on the north, they are bold and striking enough to make it up— 
high, scarred, unpeopled mountain ranges the whole way. The 
points of interest to the eye in the broad expanse of water were the 
white porpoises that kept rolling, rolling in the distance all day. 
They came up like the perimeter of a great wheel, that turns slowly 
and then disappears. From mid-forenoon we could see far ahead an 
immense column of yellow smoke rising up and flattening out upon 
the sky and stretching away beyond the horizon. Its form was that 
of some aquatic plant that shoots a stem up through the water and 
spreads its broad leaf upon the surface. This smoky lily-pad must 
have reached nearly to Maine. It proved to be in the Indian 
country, in the mountains beyond the mouth of the Saguenay, and 
must have represented an immense destruction of forest timber. 

The steamer is two hours crossing the St. Lawrence from Riviere 
du Loup to Tadousac. The Saguenay pushes a broad sweep of 
dark-blue water down into its mightier brother, that is sharply de- 
fined from the deck of the steamer. The two rivers seem to touch, 
but not to blend, so proud and haughty is this chieftain from the 
north. On the mountains above Tadousac cne could see banks of 
sand left by the ancient seas. Naked rock and sterile sand are all 
the Tadousacker has to make his garden of, so far as I observed. 
Indeed, there is no soil along the Saguenay until you get to Ha-ha 
Bay, and then there is not much, and poor quality at that. 

What the ancient fires did not burn, the ancient seas have 
washed away. I overheard an English resident say to a Yankee 
tourist, ‘‘ You will think you are approaching the end of the world 
up here.” It certainly did suggest something apocryphal or anti- 
mundane—a segment of the moon or of a cleft asteroid, matter dead 
or wrecked. The world-builders must have had their foundry up in 
this neighborhood, and the bed of this river was doubtless the channel 
through which the molten granite flowed. Some mischief-loving 
god has let in the sea while things were yet red-hot, and there has 
been a time here. But the channel still seems filled with water from 
the mid-Atlantic, cold and blue-black, and in places between seven 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 569 


and eight thousand feet deep (one and a half miles). In fact, the 
enormous depth of the Saguenay is one of the wonders of physical 
geography. It is as great a marvel in its way as Niagara. 

The ascent of the river is made by night, and the traveler finds 
himself in Ha-ha Bay in the morning. The steamer lies here 
several hours before starting on her return trip, and takes in large 
quantities of white birch wood, as she does also at Tadousac. 
The chief product of the country seemed to be huckleberries, of 
which large quantities are shipped to Quebec in rude board boxes, 


holding about a peck each. Little girls came aboard or lingered 


g 
about the landing with cornucopias of birch-bark filled with red 
raspberries ; five cents for about half a pint was the usual price. 
The village of St. Alphonse, where the steamer tarries, is a cluster 
of small, humble dwellings, dominated, like all Canadian villages, 
by an immense church. Usually the church will hold all the 
houses in the village; pile them all up and they would hardly 
equal it in size; it is the one conspicuous object, and is seen afar ; 
and on the various lines of travel one sees many more priests 
than laymen. They appear to be about the only class that stir 
about and have a good time. Many of the houses were covered 
with birch-bark,—the canoe birch —held to its place by perpendicular 
strips of board or split poles. 

A man with a horse and a buckboard persuaded us to give him 
twenty-five cents each to take us two miles up the St. Alphonse River 
to see the salmon jump. ‘There is a high saw-mill dam there, which 
every salmon in his upward journey tries his hand at leaping. A 
race-way has been constructed around the dam for their benefit, 
which, it seems, they do not use till they have repeatedly tried to 
scale the dam. The day before our visit three dead fish were found 
in the pool below, killed by too much jumping. | Those we saw had 
the jump about all taken out of them; several did not get more than 
half their length out of the water, and occasionally only an impotent 
nose would protrude from the foam. One fish made a leap of three or 
four feet and landed on an apron of the dam and tumbled helplessly 
back; he shot up like a bird and rolled back like a clod. This was the 
only view of salmon, the buck of the rivers, we had on our journey. 

It was a bright and flawless midsummer day that we sailed down 
the Saguenay, and nothing was wanting but a good excuse for being 


570 The Halcyon in Canada. 


there. The river was as lonely as the St. John’s road; not a sail or 
a smoke-stack the whole sixty-five miles. The scenery culminates 
at Cape Eternity, where the rocks rise sheer from the water to a 
height of eighteen hundred feet. This view dwarfed everything I 
had ever before seen. There is perhaps nothing this side the Yo- 
semite chasm that equals it, and, emptied of its water, this chasm 
would far surpass that famous canon, as the river here is a mile 
and a quarter deep. The bald eagle nests in the niches in the 
precipice, secure from any intrusion. Immense blocks of the rock 
had fallen out, leaving areas of shadow and clinging, overhanging 
masses that were a terror and fascination to the eye. There was a 
great fall a few years ago, just as the steamer had passed from under 
and blown her whistle to wake the echoes. The echo came back, 
and with it a part of the mountain that astonished more than it 
delighted the lookers-on. The pilot took us close around the base 
of the precipice that we might fully inspect it. And here my eyes 
played me a trick the like of which they had never done before. 
One of the boys of the steamer brought to the forward deck his 
hands: full of stones, that the curious ones among the passengers 
might try how easy it was to throw one ashore. ‘Any girl ought 
to do it,” I said to myself, after a man had tried and had failed to 
clear half the distance. Seizing a stone, I cast it with vigor and 
confidence, and as much expected to see it smite the rock as I ex- 
pected to live. ‘It is a good while getting there,” I mused, as I 
watched its course. Down, down it went; there, it will ring upon 
the granite in half a breath ; no, down—into the water, a little more 
than half-way! ‘Has my arm lost its cunning?” I said, and tried 
again and again, but with like result. The eye was completely at 
fault. There was a new standard of size before it to which it failed 
to adjust itself, The rock is so enormous and towers so above you 
that you get the impression it is much nearer than it actually is. 
When the eye is full it says, ‘‘ Here we are,” and the hand is ready 
to prove the fact; but in this case there is an astonishing discrepancy 
between what the eye reports and what the hand finds out. 

Cape Trinity, the wife of this Colossus, stands across a chasm 
through which flows a small tributary of the Saguenay, and is a head 
or two shorter, as becomes a wife, and less rugged and broken in 
outline. 


The Halcyon tn Canada. 571 


From Riviére du Loup, where we passed the night and ate our 
first “ Tommy-cods,” our thread of travel makes a big loop around 
New Brunswick to St. John, thence out and down through Maine 


to Boston,—a thread upon which many delightful excursions and 
reminiscences might be strung. We traversed the whole of the 
valley of the Metapedia, and passed the doors of many famous 
salmon streams and rivers, and heard everywhere the talk they 
inspire; one could not take a nap in the car for the excitement of 
the big fish stories he was obliged to overhear. 

The Metapedia is a most enticing-looking stream; its waters are 
as colorless as melted snow; I could easily have seen the salmon in 
it as we shot along, if they had come out from their hiding-places. 
It was the first white-water stream we had seen since leaving the 
Catskills; for all the Canadian streams are black or brown, either 
from the iron in the soil or from the leechings of the spruce swamps. 
But in New Brunswick we saw only these clear, silver-shod 
streams; I imagined they had a different ring or tone also. 
The Metapedia is deficient in good pools in its lower portions; 
its limpid waters flowing with a tranquil murmur over its wide, 
evenly paved bed for miles at a stretch. The salmon pass over 
these shallows by night and rest in the pools by day. The Resti- 


-gouche, which it joins, and which is a famous salmon-stream and the 


father of famous salmon-streams, is of the same complexion and a 
delight to look upon. There is a noted pool where the two join, 
and one can sit upon the railroad bridge and count the noble 
fish in the lucid depths below. The valley here is fertile, and has 
a cultivated, well-kept look. 

We passed the Jacquet, the Belledune, the Nepissisquit, the 
Miramichi (‘‘ happy retreat”) in the night, and have only their bird- 
call names to report. 


VON G Shree ® THOUSAN DIETS EAN DS. 


7 


v 


HOWARD! PYLE. 


— 
mi 


HE terrific combat between Manabozho, the Indian hero, better 
known as the Hiawatha of Longfellow, and his father, the 
West Wind, was doubtless suggested to the first narrator of 
that memorable event by the lakes of northern New York upon the 
one hand, and those of the St. Lawrence chain upon the other, as 
marking the cavities from which those Titans might be supposed to 
have plucked the masses of rock they hurled at each other, the fall- 
ing fragments of which formed that peculiar geological phenomenon 
known as the Thousand Islands, scattered through the St. Lawrence 
for a hundred miles or so of its course. 

These islands, about eighteen hundred in number, stretching 
throughout that broad portion of the upper St. Lawrence extend- 
ing from Lake Ontario to the Long Sault, are of all sizes and of all 
kinds; some not more than a yard or so in extent, and some cover- 
ing many acres; some bare, rocky, and desolate; some thickly cov- 
ered with a Scragey growth of scrub pines and hemlocks; some 
shaded with considerable forests of timber trees, and some cultivated 
here and there, producing such slight sustenance as the inhabitants 
can wring from an unfruitful soil. 

In the old Indian days, this beautiful extent of the river from 
Clayton to Alexandria Bay, embracing an extent of sixteen miles, 
widening almost toalake and crowded with a perfect maze of islands, 
went by the name of Manatoana, or Garden of the Great Spirit; 
and, indeed, in the time of Nature’s undisputed empire, when the 
larger islands were covered with thick growths of pine, hemlock, 
white birch, and maple; when the wild deer swam from woody islet 


574 Among the Thousand Islands. 


to woody islet, and each little lily-padded bay, nestling in among 
the hills and bluffs of the islands, teemed with water-fowl undisturbed 
by the report of a gun, it was worthy, to the semi-poetical mind of 
the Indian, to be an abode of Him who created all nature, and who 
had made this lovely region as an especial dwelling-place for him- 
self. Even so late as fifty years ago, before the great tumult- 
creating steam-boats had disturbed these solitudes, the islands were 
the favorite retreat of deer; catamounts wailed in the tangled depths 
of the night-woods, and each cool nook and corner teemed with wild 
life. 

Now, however, the inexorably rotating kaleidoscope of time has 
shaken away the savage scenes of old, never to be repeated, and 


new ones appear to the eye of the present. No longer in Alexan- 


\ nd et ~ 
“ "3 Sofi 
Hunde U 
TH aly 
rave as e BAe a 
aE, 2g -20 unt yy 
“iy, 4 i 
cay hi J og te tr i Soe ée : 
LMA EW) x9 iy aw Ding 
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oO Lae Z i Vay <3 ‘i mg Branch 
a = 
45 Se 5 oe fathony 
i ier SF" Ga 
foat 4 ASL J 
pred “one : tas 3; SW. 1 Me, U2 


ibe ae Ty. et 


Collins Landing > 


stand: o Ya cese Fee swan 
oe ne Mou 
woe C.£.W J, faylor 
Be SE aaor alee eo ; 
(a Q 


vs 
Air ed ss 


pin; 
sor? q 7) of wy F 


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ou 


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aa 


a MAP OF 
Ue Part of the 
§ O jovnd THOUSAND ISLANDS 
a -of the. 
eae Scale of Miles St. Lawrence River 
< Nrar ALEXANDRIA Bay N. Y, 


Corrected from an old Canada Map of 1815-16 
(2 AY TON Ry { Names as known in 1874-5] 
"a, 


Rey.Geo.Rockwell 


~~ 


Among the Thousand [stands. 575 


dria Bay—fortunately still beautiful—does Nature reign in silent 
majesty, for the constant flutter and bustle of the life and gayety of a 
summer resort have superseded her. But although Alexandria Bay 
is in this continual tumult of life, for some fortunate and almost 
unaccountable reason, the Thousand Islands are not in the least 
tinctured with the é/as¢ air of an ordinary watering-place, nor are 
they likely to become so. There are hundreds—thousands of places, 
rugged and solitary, among which a boat can glide, while its occu- 
pant lies gloriously indolent, doing nothing, but reveling in the 
realization of life; little bays, almost land-locked, where the resin- 
ous odors of hemlock and pine fill the nostrils, and the whispers of 
nature’s unseen life serves but to make the solitude more perceptible. 
Sometimes the vociferous cawing of crows sounds through the hol- 


low woods, or a solitary eagle lifts from his perch on the top of a 
stark and dead pine and sails majestically across the blue arch of 
the sky. Such scenes occur in a beautiful sheet of water called the 
Lake of the Isle, lying placidly and balmily in the lap of the piney 
hills of Wells Island, reflecting their rugged crests in its glassy sur- 
face, dotted here and there by tiny islands. 

In the stillest bays are spots that seem to lie in a Rip Van Win- 
kle sleep, where one would scarcely be surprised to see an Indian 


576 Among the Thousand Islands. 


INLET TO THE LAKE. 


canoe shoot from beneath the hemlocks of the shore into the open, 
freighted with a Natty Bumpo or a Chingachgook, breaking the 
placid surface of the water into slowly widening ripples. In such a 
spot, one evening, after a day spent in sketching, when paddling our 
boat about in an indolent, aimless way, looking down through the crys- 
tal clearness of the water to the jungle of weeds below, now frighten- 
ing a pickerel from his haunt or startling a brood of wood-ducks from 
among the rushes and arrowheads, we found ourselves belated. As 
the sun set in a blaze of crimson and gold, two boatmen rowing home- 
ward passed darkly along the glassy surface that caught the blazing 
light of the sky, and across the water came, in measured rhythm 
with the dip of their oars, the tune of a quaint, old, half-melancholy 
Methodist hymn that they sang. We listened as the song trailed 
after them until they turned into the inlet behind the dusky woods 
and were lost to view. From such romantic and secluded scenes 
one can watch the bustle and hurry of life as serenely as though one 
were the inhabitant of another planet. 

About a quarter of a mile back of the Thousand Island House is 
a spring of mineral water strongly tinctured with iron, clear as a 
diamond of the first water and cold as ice. A little creek, a perfect 
conservatory of aquatic and amphibious plants, winding in and out 


Among the Thousand [slands. iy 


Dien 2 
MR Vay SNM 


HEAD OF CREEK AND IRON SPRING. a pe j F ( 


with many abrupt turns, leads to within 
a few paces of it. On either side of the 
open water of its channel is an almost tropical tangle and pro- 
fusion of vegetation; water-lilies, white as driven snow, with 
hearts of gold, reposing on their glossy, cool green pads; yellow- 


docks, arrowheads with purple clusters of tiny flowers, giant bul- 
rushes, cat-tails and ferns,—all in a bewildering tangle of verdure, 
at times almost impassable. A rude wooden bridge spans it at one 
place, so close to the water that the boatman is obliged to bend 
nearly double in passing under it. Here one may occasionally see 
a chubby urchin angling in the glassy water for small pickerel or 
rock bass. The bottom of the creek is matted, and in some places 
fairly choked, with an exuberance of water-grasses of all descriptions. 

Perhaps one of the best and easiest ways of becoming thoroughly 
acquainted with the various views, some of them extremely beautiful, 
that the islands present, is by means of a little steam-yacht 
which runs in daily trips around Wells Island. Starting from 
Alexandria Bay, she steams up the river among the group of islands 
lying there, past cottages and camping-tents nestling among the 
cool green shadows of the trees; past shallow lily-padded bays, 
at whose edge stands, sentinel-like, an ancient log-cabin or dilapi- 
dated barn; past a camp-meeting ground at the upper extremity of 


37 


578 Among the Thousand [stands. 


Wells Island, the so-called 
Thousand Island Park; and 
finally, taking a sudden turn, 
she seems to direct her course 
against an abrupt shore. As 
she advances, however, a little 
inlet gradually opens to view ; 
a few rods further and the land 
seems to shift and change like a dissolving view, 
while the little craft glides into a narrow chan- 
nel between two abrupt islands, the banks on 
either hand being shaded by overhanging pines 
and hemlocks. The channel, not more than six 
or seven feet deep, is thickly covered along the 
bottom with the usual tangle of waving water- 
grasses and weeds, long ribbons of eel-grass, 
feathery Carolina weed, and other varieties, 
purple, green, and brown. Now and then a 
startled pickerel darts from under the bows of 
the steamer, or a solitary heron flops heavily 
away from among the water-lilies along the 
bank. On past a shallow sheet of water, Eel 
Bay, where an occasional fisherman with his 
assistant may be seen; past the white towers 


of a stumpy light-house, perched upon the corner 
of a little island and defined against the dark 
green of the pines at its back; on, at last, 
into the Canadian channel. Here a bewildering maze of beautiful 
islands, north, south, east, and west, rises upon every hand. At times, 
the channel seems a lake surrounded by an amphitheater of thickly 
wooded hills and bluffs, with no outlet but that through which the 
boat has just entered; proceeding onward, it dissolves into a long 
channel, contracts into an abrupt inlet, or widens to an open bay. 
Further on is that sudden variation in the course of the channel 
known to all St. Lawrence voyagers and boatmen as the ‘Fiddler’s 
Elbow.” As the boat enters this portion of the channel, it seems to 
be directed by the helmsman point blank into an island. At the 
very moment, however, when a few rods of further progress in that 


FLOWERS FROM IRON 
SPRING. 


Among the Thousand [slands. 579 


direction would dash the boat against the rocks, she makes a sudden 
deviation to the left, another to the right, and lo! the Canadian 
channel lies before her a good mile and three-quarters broad, and 
Grenadier Light-house lifts in the far distance. After passing a 
number of curious Canadian lumber stations, perched high on the 
steep bank, the boat rounds the lower end of Wells Island, directs 
her course among the little isles on the American side, and finally 
stops at Alexandria Bay. 

The islands in the Canadian channel of this part of the river are 
chiefly in possession of the Government of the Dominion. Among 
them are some of the most interesting of the whole group. Old 
Bluff raises his rugged front from a-hundred feet of water to eighty 
feet of bare, perpendicular rock, his forehead closely matted with a 
thick growth of scrub pines. Through the center of the island 
runs a valley, almost a gorge, in which stands an uninhabited 
frame shanty for the accommodation of visitors. It is a rough, 
unfinished structure of the coarsest deal, but it looks picturesque 
and romantic enough, shaded and almost hidden as it is by maples 
and white birch. From the top of the high bluff, fronting down the 
river, a magnificent view is obtained of the islands lying beneath, 
both in the American and Canadian channels. Here the artist sat 
perched upon the sheer edge of the bluff, sketching diligently, in 
full view of the natives for a mile around, and vastly to their 
astonishment. 

“Hulloa, Cap!” came faintly up from below. He looked down; 
a cockle-shell of a melon-boat was tossing on the waves below. 

“Be ye needin’ a watermillin?” 

He thought not, unless the anxious fruit-vender would carry it 
up the hill at the rear of the bluff. While engaged in this collo- 
quy, the artist’s sketch-book slipped from his hand and landed after 
many gyrations about half-way down the face of the cliff. Two of 
the party were obliged to go below in a boat, one of them climbing 
the rocks to secure the lost book, while a third remained above to 
direct their movements. 

One of the most curious of the American islands stands a short 
distance above Alexandria Bay,—a cubical block of granite having 
almost the appearance of being carved by human hands, rejoicing in 
the not very savory name of The Devil’s Oven, its summit giving 


580 Among the Thousand Islands. 


THE DEVIL'S OVEN. 


sustenance to a few gaunt cedars, and its sides perforated by an 
almost circular opening which at a distance does bear some resem- 
blance to a gigantic baker’s oven. 

The upper extremity of Carleton’s Island, some twenty-eight 
miles above Alexandria Bay, narrows into a contracted promontory 
of land ending in an abrupt bluff fifty or sixty feet high. Here, 
perched aloft, perceptible to all passers-by along the river, and 
distinctly visible for miles around, stand a number of toppling and 
half-ruined chimneys. Like so many sentinels standing solemn- 
faced, waiting for the blessed time of rest that will relieve them from 
duty, they watch over the ruins of an old French fort, so old that its 
history has been lost in the mists of the past. Attracted by that 
romantic glamour that hangs in the very air of the antiquated and 
dilapidated ruin, we were induced to pay it a visit, to the mild 
wonder of the natives, who seemed to look upon the artist as a 
species of harmless lunatic. So interested were we with the time- 
worn remains that a brief visit developed into a three days’ stay. 

The early history of the place is almost entirely lost, insomuch 
that it is supposed by some to be the ruin of old Fort Frontenac. — It 
was, so far as existing data go to prove, commanded by the French 
about the year 1760; then fell into the hands of the English with the 


a 


Among the Thousand [slands. 581 


2 GENERAL VIEW FROM BLUFF ISLAND. 


French possessions, and was 
finally captured during the 
war of 1812 by a party of 
Americans under command 
of one Hubbard, an ex- 
Revolutionary soldier, who 
found this once large and 
important fortress under the 
immediate command of two 
women and three invalids; 
an Ichabod of forts, its glory 
had departed. The women and invalids were valorously attacked, 
and after a slight resistance they capitulated; the poor old fort, 
as if to accelerate its already progressing ruin, was fired, and the 
Americans with their prisoners retired to the main-land, where they 
were received with salutes, cheers, and the music of the Cape 
Vincent band,—one fife and a drum. 

Since that day the fort has never been rebuilt, but has been 
allowed gradually to crumble away into ruin, producing, as fruit of 
its semi-mythical history, a rich crop of romantic stories and legends. 
An antiquated well, dug through the solid Trenton limestone to the 
level of the lake, has been converted by the vivid imaginations of the 
natives into a receptacle of the doubloons which the French upon 
evacuating the fort are said to have thrown therein, with the brass 
cannons on top of them; though why they threw their doubloons 


374 


582 Among the Thousand Islands. 


RUINS OF THE OLD FORT, 
CARLETON'S ISLAND. 


into the well instead of carrying them 
away, has, I believe, never been satis- 
factorily explained. 

Upon either side, and immediately in front of the bluff upon which 
the old fort stands, is a pretty little bay, which once doubtless afforded 
pleasant and easy anchorage for the vessels that lay under its pro- 
tecting guns. An innocent lumber craft, sunk many years ago in 
this harbor, has been, through the medium of the romantic atmos- 
phere that hangs about the place, converted into an audacious 
smuggler that, blown ashore here, sank with a fabulous amount 
of moneys, silks, laces, and Canadian brandies hidden beneath the 
lumber. 

Without doubt, the place was once of considerable importance. 
The fortress has been built in the most elaborate manner after the 
system of Vauban, and exhibits a skill of the very highest order in 
the art of constructing defenses. The fortifications in the rear are 
semicircular in form; the trench, four feet deep and twenty broad, is 
cut through the solid Trenton limestone; the glacis, which is ap- 
proached by a gradual elevation, being constructed of the same 
material to the height of four feet. Directly on the river-front it is 


Among the Thousand [slands. 583 


naturally impregnable, and at the precipitous side was probably 
defended merely by a stockade. 

Numbers of graves lie in a flat field immediately back of the fort, 
many of which have been excavated by relic-seekers in search of 
French buttons or shoe and knee buckles. A number of ghost-like 
rose-bushes standing starkly here and there, long since past the 
lusty age of flower-bearing, probably marked out paths through this 
cemetery in the wilderness. Back in the island, in a copse, are the 
remains of an Indian burying-ground, where numbers of stone arrow- 
heads, tomahawks, etc., have been picked up at different times ; and 
to the right of the fortress, immediately upon the bluff overlooking 
the Canadian Channel, are still older graves, where, it 1s said, as the 
bluff slowly wears away, an occasional grinning skull or grisly bene 
is exposed to the long excluded light of heaven. 

In this vicinity, numbers of excellent old-fashioned wrought nails 
are constantly being plowed up or otherwise collected, some build- 
ings being almost completely joined with them. 

While here, we had an excellent opportunity of gaining a practi- 
cal knowledge of the daily life of the island farmers, being obliged 
to lodge for a time at a little farm-house that nestled beneath the 
brow of the old fortification, like a swallow’s nest in a cannon’s 
mouth. 

The proprietor did not seem overzealous to accommodate us; for 
what sane man, of his own free choice, would sit day after day in the 
broiling sun sketching the old chimneys? The bill of fare of our 
supper with the farm hands consisted of stewed potatoes, bread and 
butter, and pie, with the addition of scalding tea. The tea was per- 
haps rather lacking in the titillating taste of the herb itself, but any 
weakness in that direction was fully compensated for by the thick- 
ness of the bread and the solidity of the pie. After this repast, we 
were solemnly shown to our apartment immediately above the 
kitchen, dining and reception room, and in consequence intensely 
hot on this midsummer’s night. Our sleeping chamber was evi- 
dently the room of state, hung with wonderful wall-paper, the floor 
pierced by the arm of a stove-pipe from the room below. Here 
stood the wash-stand, without the usual accompaniments of ewer, 
basin, and looking-glass; and our couches,—one a trundle-bed, and 
the other a gigantic four-poster of antiquated date. The stove-pipe 


584 Among the Thousand Islands. 


*FE0 


served as an excellent 
telephone whereby to 
hear our landlady in 
the room beneath dis- 
cussing with a crony the proper amount 


RIVER CRAFT. 


of board to charge her guests. ‘ Well,” said the crony, “I've a feller 
a-stayen with me; I’m a-goin’ to charge him two dollars a week, 
and”—in a determined tone—‘‘ I’m a-goin’' to git it, too!” Modern 


luxuries should always be paid for at whatever price. 

On some of the islands and along the main-land one sometimes 
comes upon an antiquated group of Lombardy poplars, almost invari- 
ably standing in the vicinity of some equally antiquated log-cabin or 
farm-house. The poplar is the ancient sign of hospitality, and in the 
old country was generally planted near an inn or hostelry. These 
trees doubtless were brought to this country by the old voyagers, 
and served as a landmark by which many a traveler or sailor on the 
St. Lawrence, making the long journey from Montreal to Toronto, 


Among the Thousand Islands. 585 


hailed the vicinity of Christian help and assistance indicated by these 
darkly colored trees. 

Behind Lower Grenadier Island, and three or four miles from 
Alexandria Bay, upon the Canadian main-land, are a number of 
excavations with remains of chimneys which we were puzzled for a 
long time to account for. They were certainly under-ground dwell- 
ings, but what was their use we could not satisfactorily explain. At 
length, we met a fisherman who told us he recollected hearing from 
his grandmother that in the “English war” British troops were 
quartered there during the winter. Whether the English war was 
that of 1812 or the Revolution, we could not discover; probably the 
war of older date may be referred to, as in many instances trees of 
considerable size have grown up in the midst of the excavations. 

Of late years, perhaps, no event caused such a stir of excitement 
in this region as the so-called Patriot war in 1838,—a revolt of 
certain Canadians dissatisfied with the government of Sir Francis 
Bond Head, then governor-general of Canada,— which was joined 
by a number of American agitators ever ripe for any disturbance. 
The first center of operations of these so-called patriots was Navy 
Island, in the middle of the Niagara River, where they congregated, 
employing the little steam-vessel Cavolinme in carrying arms and 
munitions of war to that point. At length the steamer was captured 
by some Canadians, fired, and run over the falls of Niagara. Con- 
siderable indignation was excited in the United States by this 
destruction of the property of American citizens, particularly along 
the border, where indignation meetings were held, and secret socie- 
ties called ‘“‘ Hunter’s Lodges” were formed, with pass-words, secret 


signals, and all due attendant mysteries, the express purpose of 
which was revenge upon the Canadian Government. The agitators 
were deceived by these signs into imagining that events were now 
ripe for a general border war, in which they hoped to free Canada 
from the rule of Great Britain. 2 

It was a wild, insane affair altogether, and after some time con- 
sumed in petty threats of attack, finally reached a climax in the 
burning of the Canadian steamer S77 Robert Peel—one of the 
finest vessels upon the St. Lawrence. The most prominent actor in 
this affair was Bill Johnston, 


a name familiar to every one around 
this region,— whose career forms a series of romantic adventures, 


586 Among the Thousand Islands. 


deeds, and escapes,—followed by his final capture,—which would 
filla novel. Indeed, we understand that a novel has been written by 
a Canadian Frenchman on-this theme, though we have not had the 
good fortune to find any one who has read it. The burning of the 
steamer Pee/, which occurred on the 29th of May, 1838, remains, 
however, an act of inexcusable and stupid incendiarism, answering 
no conceivable good purpose. 

For some time there had been mutterings among certain of the 
societies, and for a few days previous to the occurrence something 
mysterious was felt to be in progress. The night of the 29th was 
dark and rainy. About eleven o'clock, the /e/, then on her way 
from Prescott to Toronto, stopped at McDonald’s Wharf, on the 
south side of Wellesley—now Wells—Island, for the purpose of 
replenishing her almost exhausted stock of wood. The passengers 
were all asleep in the cabin, and the crew busily engaged in their 
occupation, when a body of men, twenty in number, disguised as 
Indians and with blackened faces, yelling tumultuously and shouting, 
“Remember the Cavol/zne/” ran quickly down the bank, armed with 
muskets and’ bayonets, led by a tall, strongly built man, in a red 
shirt— Bill Johnston himself. In a moment they overpowered the 
unsuspecting crew, while on board all was tumult and terror. Some 
of the ladies fainted, and several of the passengers fled to the shore 
through the rain, clad only in their night-clothes. A short oppor- 
tunity was allowed for the passengers and crew to carry their bag- 
gage to the shore, but by far the greater part was lost when the 
vessel was subsequently burned. 

Toward morning, the Pee? was drawn off from the wharf, and 
after being run upon a point of shoal about thirty yards below, 
was set on fire and abandoned. For some time the flames blazed 
aloft, illuminating the shores for miles around; but about dawn in 
the morning she once more got adrift, and finally sank in about 
seventy feet of water. It was nominally the intention of the captors 
of the steamer to convert her into a gun-boat and use her against the 
Canadian Government; but upon finding that she was firmly aground 
and resisted all their efforts to get her free, they fired her to prevent 
her recapture. By some it is asserted that the vessel was deliber- 
ately robbed and then burned to prevent detection and throw an air 
of patriotism over the crime of the perpetrators. 


Among the Thousand Islands. 587 


DOCK WHERE THE STEAMER ‘‘ PEEL" WAS BURNED. 


Johnston was originally a British subject, but turned renegade, 
serving as a spy in the war of 1812, in which capacity he is said to 
have robbed the mails to gain intelligence. He hated his native 
country with all the bitterness which a renegade alone is capable of 
feeling. He was one of the earliest agitators upon the American 
side of the border, and was the one who instigated the destruction 
of the Peed, A reward was offered by the government of each 
country for his apprehension,—so he was compelled to take to the 
islands for safety. Here he continued for several months, though 
with numbers of hair-breadth escapes, in which he was assisted by 
his daughter, who seems to have been a noble girl, and who is still 
living at Clayton. Many stories are told of remarkable acts per- 
formed by him,—of his choking up the inlet of the Lake of the Isle 
with rocks, so as to prevent vessels of any size entering that sheet 
of water; of his having a skiff in which he could outspeed any 
ordinary sailing craft, and which he carried bodily across necks of 
land when his enemies were in pursuit of him, and of his hiding in 
all manner of out-of-the-way spots, once especially in the Devil's 
Oven, previously described, to which his daughter, who alone was in 
his confidence, disguised as a boy, carried provisions. He was finally 
captured and sent to Albany, where, after suffering a slight penalty 


583 Among the Thousand [stands. 


for his offense, he was subsequently released, although he was always 
very careful to keep out of the clutch of the indignant Canadians. 
His son, John Johnston, still resides at Clayton, and from him, after 
some pressure, a part of this information as to his father’s adventures 
was extracted. 

There is a certain breath of life about the northern United States 
and the neighboring region of Canada suggestive even in mid- 
summer of hard winters,—of long months when the face of the St. 
Lawrence is as adamant; of snow lying four feet deep all winter 
without intermission; an indescribable reminder of that season when 
a huge wood fire roars in the capacious fire-place, and when the 
bellowing wind dashes hissing snow wreaths in among the tossing 
and writhing pines and hemlocks. There is a rugged look about 
the landscape, as though Nature, not daring to expend her strength 
in the labor of growing,—save in little secret nooks here and there, 
—merely rested to gain fresh strength for her yearly tussle with 
grim winter. The inhabitants—generally fishermen—are an honest, 
rough, weather-beaten set, truthful,—with the exception of legends 
of buried treasure, or perchance wonderful stories of an eighty-pound 
muskallonge or two,—kind-hearted and hospitable. The fisherman 
is quaint in dialect, curious in manners, with the invariable story 
of the huge fish which he almost caught—and didn’t. “Be ye 
a-goin’ to skitch to-day?” inquires he, patronizingly, as he leans 
over the rail of the slip and looks down into the boat, where the 


artist is making some preparations. ‘‘ Ye hadn’t oughter lose so 
much time from fishin’..” Or, “Where be ye ter dinner (take 


luncheon) to-day?” An island where it is customary to take picnic 
dinners is usually denominated a ‘“dinnerin’-place.” 

Sometimes, rowing home at night, one passes by the blazing 
fire of a camping party, twinkling in the gloom of some thickly 
wooded islet. Around the fire move the dark forms of the boatmen 
or cook, preparing the evening meal. To one side, the campers 
themselves lie stretched at ease, smoking, or talking over the day’s 
sport. 

One of the great features of enjoyment to the casual visitor to 
the Thousand Islands consists in occasional picnic dinners—not the 
ordinary picnic dinner, where a table-cloth is spread upon the 
ground, and cold meats and sundries upon the table-cloth ; where 


Among the Thousand [slands. 589 


CAMPING OUT. 


long-legged spiders or centipedes career across the viands or drop 
into one’s cup of lukewarm coffee; but dinners as luxurious in their 
bill of fare as any of the hotels can afford, combined with all the 
unfettered gayety incident to such an a/ fresco meal. A day’s fish- 
ing is nominally the backbone of the expedition, around which the 
day’s pleasure is actually built. We will suppose that the party of 
a dozen ladies and gentlemen is formed, and the day planned for the 


expedition arrived,—a clear, sunny one, with not a ripple stirring the 
glassy surface of the stream. Six boats are hired, a gentleman and 
lady going in each, under the superintendence of a fisherman, which 
fisherman, if he should happen to be George Campbell, one of the 
Patterson Brothers, McCue, or some such competent hand, may 
afford his lucky party a day’s sport that of itself would fully satisfy the 
expectations of most people. Perhaps, ifthe fishing-ground be distant, 
a steam yacht is engaged, the boats, stretching in a long line, are 
taken in tow, and off the jolly party starts, with flags flying merrily. 


590 Among the Thousand Lslands. 


A FISHING PARTY. 


At length, the desired spot is reached and the sport begins, each 
party fishing as if their lives depended upon it, and all internally 
praying that, if a monster pickerel or muskallonge is caught,—of 
which there may be about one chance in five hundred,—they may be 
the particular ones selected by Fortune as the catchers thereof. But 
whether such a capture is made or not, the fishing is sure to be fine, 
and so exciting that the dinner hour approaches without notice until, 
warned by the shrill whistle of the little steam-yacht, the boats wend 
their way from all quarters to the “ dinnerin’-place.” 

The luncheon, mind you, is not made up according to the simple 
bill of fare presented at the desk of the hotel, composed of mere 
necessaries, such as eggs, bread and butter, coffee, and fat pork ; but, 
under the supervision of Isaac, the overseer of the luncheon-room 
at the Thousand Island House, it crops out in various ‘“ extras” 
and ‘‘sundries,” in the shape of a tender chicken or two, juicy steak 
and chops, green corn, tomatoes, and the like. The fishermen— 
excellent cooks, deft and cleanly—perform the task of preparing 
the meal with wonderful dispatch, and in a short time a royal repast 
is laid before the hungry anglers, whose appetites, whetted by health- 
ful exercise and invigorating air, do ample justice to the feast. After 
dinner, while the fishermen are packing away the dishes and other 


Among the Thousand [stands. 591 


et ceteras, the ladies retire for a short nap and the gentlemen for a 
social cigar; then, as evening approaches, back to the hotel, there 
to doff the flannel shirts and fishing-dresses, and once more to 
assume society clothes and manners. 

Many, however, prefer solitary sport, or with a company of two or 
three gentlemen only; and by starting in the early morning, long trips 
can be made, far down below Grenadier Island. There, in the more 
shallow portions of the river, striped with long beds of water-grasses, 
green and purple, undisturbed by the turmoil and commotion of 
passing steam-boats, the indolent pickerel lies tranquilly in the 
secluded tangle of his own especial retreat; or huge black bass, 
reaching sometimes to the weight of five or six pounds, stand guard 
along the edge of the grass, waiting for some unwary minnow or 
perch to pass. At rare intervals are spots where the savage mus- 
kallonge, the tiger of fresh- 


= | water fish, lies hidden among 
_, the water-grasses in solitary 
majesty. Sluggishly he lies, 


glaring with his savage eyes 
to right and left of him, watch- 
ing Horm hisppreyar le sees, a. 
minnow in the distance, appar- 
ently twitching 


and wriggling in 
a very eccentric 
course; a mo- 
ment the monarch 
poises himself, 
with waving fins, 
then, a sudden 
sweep of his 


majestic tail, and 
he darts like a 
thunder-bolt up- 
on his intended 


victim. The next 
moment the sharp 


agony of the 
COOKING A CAMP DINNER. : 


592 Among the Thousand Islands. 


fisherman’s hook is in 
his throat. For a mo- 
ment he lies in motion- 
less astonishment; then, 
as he feels the line tighten 
and discovers he is in- 
deed caught, he struggles 
nn with rage, making the 

CATCHING A MUSKALLONGE. water eddy and swirl with 
the sweeps of his powerful tail, and causing the rod to bend almost 
double. This way and that he darts, mad with rage and pain, while 
the line hisses as it spins from the reel; but in vain; in spite of all 
his endeavors, he feels the tightening line drawing him nearer and 
nearer to the surface. Again and again he is brought to the side of 
the boat only to dart away once more, until at last, sullen, exhausted, 
and conquered, he lies motionless in the water beside the victorious 
fisherman’s skiff. A moment more and the gaff strikes his side and 
he is landed safely in the bottom of the boat. 


Among the Thousand Islands. 


Ci 
\O 
(oS) 


SPEARING EELS IN EEL BAY. 


“Hurrah! a twenty-pounder!” 

In the early spring, when the shallows of Eel Bay or other sheets 
of water of the same kind become free from ice, the water, not 
being deep, becomes warm much more quickly than elsewhere, and 
here the half-frozen fish congregate in great quantities. The pro- 
fessional fisherman in the bow of the boat holds a spear, in shape 
like a trident, but with an alternate sharp iron prong between each 
barbed shaft, the whole fixed upon a long, firm handle. Imme- 
diately upon seeing a fish, he darts this gig at him, fixing the barb 
so effectually in his victim that to strike is to capture him. The 
weapon used is called a jaw-spear, from its peculiar form, being a 
jaw-shaped piece of wood, with a sharp iron barb firmly fixed in 
the angle, against which the eels are forced and pinned fast until 
they are safely landed in the boat. Eel-spearing is generally pur- 

38 


594 Among the Thousand Islands. 


sued at night, not only because the water is usually more quiet 
then than during the day-time, but also because the light of the 
blazing pine chunks in the “jack” or open brazier fixed in the bow 
of the skiff makes objects on the bottom more apparent by contrast 
with the surrounding gloom. 

It is a picturesque sight to see the swarthy forms of the fisher- 
men, lit up in the circumscribed circle of light, looking like phan- 
toms or demons—the one in the bow bending eagerly forward, 
holding the spear and watching the bottom keenly for his victim; 
the one in the stern silently paddling the boat across the motion- 
less water, not a sound breaking the stillness of night but the 
tremulous ‘‘ Ho-o-0-0” of the screech-owl or the crackling of pine 
chunks in the jack. Suddenly the figure in the prow poises himself 
for a moment, drives his spear forward through the water with a 
splash, then draws it back with the wriggling victim gleaming in the 
blazing light of the pine. 

In June there is fly-fishing, and fine sport it is to cast a fly so 
adroitly as to tempt a plump bass in the seclusion of his rocky retreat 
beneath the overhanging. birches along the bank, and fine sport to 
land him, too; for the bass, lusty and strong through good living and 
pure water, will battle with the sportsman as vigorously as ever did 
dappled trout, struck in the pools of Maine. 

Toward summer, the fish become more sluggish and refuse to 
strike at a fly, and then “still fishing,” with live minnows for bait, or — 
the less skillful sport of “trolling” take the place of fly-fishing. Of 
trolling, little is to be said. The lines are merely trolled from the stern 
of the boat; and if the fish bites, unless it be an extraordinary large 
one, nothing is required but to haul him in, hand over hand, and land 
him finally, without any skillful handling, in the bottom of the boat. 

With still fishing, however, more skill is required. As a sport it 
occupies the intermediate point between trolling and fly-fishing, and, 
should very light rods be used, a great deal of sport may be obtained 
in playing and landing the fish. Nearly all the boatmen, upon the 
least encouragement, will recount stupendous stories of eighty-pound 
muskallonge, forty-pound pickerel, or eight-pound bass. The largest 
fish that I could find reliable record of as having been caught and 
landed were a muskallonge fifty-one pounds, a pickerel twenty- 
seven, and a black bass six and a quarter. 


Among the Thousand Lslands. 595 


Numbers ‘of ducks of different varieties frequent the bays and 
inlets of the Thousand Islands in the spring and autumn, and quan- 
tities of ruffed grouse are found upon the main-land, so that the 
shooting is said to be excellent in its season. While we were there, 
two or three deer were said to have come from the main-land to 
Wells Island, where they were diligently hunted, but, so far as we 
heard, without success. 

The most interesting part of the development of this region as 
a watering-place is that which relates to the settlement of the islands 
by private residents. The islands have not been held at too high a 
price, anda multitude of men have bought them and built houses 
upon them for summer use. Some of these are little more than 
shelters or ‘“‘shooting-boxes”; some are comfortable houses; and 
several are expensive and very splendid and showy places, so that a 
passenger on a river steamer, making his first trip down the stream, 
will find much of picturesque interest in glimpses of the architecture 
which greet him on every hand. There is no chance for fighting 
over boundary lines, and some of the lots witha liquid fence are so 
small that their owners can throw a fly from their front door-step to 
the bass they can plainly see in the clear water which is never dis- 
turbed by a freshet. 

There are summer hotels at Clayton and other points along the 
shore, but Alexandria Bay is the grand center of the summer life. 
Of course, the Lake Ontario and St. Lawrence boats from all parts 
touch here, and there is a daily line between Ogdensburg and Alex- 
andria Bay. Here are the great hotels, and here is the multitude. 
The village contains about five hundred people, with two churches — 
a Methodist and a Dutch Reformed Presbyterian. The latter is a 
mission church, and was founded by the late Rev. Dr. Bethune, who 
was a famous fisherman in his day, and who, in his summer recrea- 
tions on the river, did not forget to fish for men. The Methodists 
have established the “Thousand Island Park,” several miles above, 
where they come in great numbers every year for recreation and a 
camp-meeting. They have a fine dock and quite a number of 
private residences. Westminster Park is a new enterprise. An 
association has purchased five or six hundred acres of Wells Island, 
nearly opposite to the village of Alexandria Bay, and the enterprise 
is now in the full tide of development. Fourteen miles of road have 


596 Among the Thousand Islands. 


been laid out, five of which are already graded. A dock has been 
built more than a thousand feet long; and hundreds of building lots 
have been thrown into the market. Under the influence of this great 
influx of visitors, the fishing is quite likely to suffer; but the pure 
water and the pure air that sweep down the mighty channel are 
enough for the drinking and the breathing of a continent. 

Pleasant are the recollections of the place of which some aspects 
are recorded here; pleasant for all reasons; pleasant as a center 
of watering-place life; pleasant for hours of fishing under the skill- 
ful guidance of George Campbell; and doubly pleasant, delightful, 
for hours of silent, solitary communion with Nature in tranquil 
bays and spicy cedar woods,—communion sometimes as uninter- 
rupted as though we belonged to a different sphere from this earthly 
one of hurry and bustle; a place of legend and romance, of old asso- 
ciations—an unfailing fountain of interest both in itself and its 
inhabitants. 


BONNIE CASTLE. OWNED BY THE LATE DR, J. G. HOLLAND, 


re SPLIT BAMBOO) ROD? 


iS) El SOR VY sh iG: 


HE “split bamboo’—“ rent and glued bamboo”—rod has been 

generally supposed to be an American invention. The first split 

bamboo rod I ever saw or heard of was made by Wm. Blacker, 
54 Dean street, Soho, London, and to order, for James Stevens, an 
old and well-known angler, of Hoboken, N. J. This was in 1852, 
and it was given to me for repairs and alterations in that year. I 
am certain of the date, as I made a rod for Mr. Stevens on his visit 
to the London Exhibition in 1851. I have the records of both dates, 
taken at the time, so that no mistake can be made. The rod is still 
in the possession of the family of Mr. Stevens. 

The first attempt to give the history of the split bamboo rod in 
this country, that I have been able to find, is as follows: A. G. Wil- 
kinson, Esq., of Washington, D. C., in an article in “Scribner's 
Magazine” (now “The Century”) for October, 1876, on ‘Salmon 
Fishing,” page 774, says: 


“JT have taken not a little pains to get as far as possible a correct history of this 
somewhat remarkable invention.” 


Mr. Wilkinson gives the year 1866 as the one in which Mr. Phil- 
lippi, a gunmaker of Easton, Pa., made a glued-up split bamboo rod 
in three sections, or part of one. He was followed by Mr. Green 
and Mr. Murphy. 

* Through the courtesy of the editor of “The American Angler,” we are permitted 
to republish the following articles giving the history of the split bamboo rod. 

38A 


598 The Split Bamboo Rod. 


Dr. Henshall, in his ‘‘ Book of the Black Bass,” pp. 201-203, 
under the caption of ‘* Origin of the Split Bamboo Rod,” says: 


“ For though purely an American invention as now constructed, the idea or princi- 
ple is really of English origin.” 


rives the date of the first split bamboo rod 


> 


The Doctor then 
made in this country, by Samuel Phillippi, as about 1848; but all 
dates are from memory, and I believe the date given by Mr. Wilkin- 
son is the nearer approach to the correct one. Mr. Phillippi never 
made a complete rod of split bamboo, only a tip and joint to a three- 
pieced rod, the butt of ash, and the joint and tip made in three 
sections. Mr. Phillippi died about 1878. 

Mr. Murphy, of Newark, N. J., in an article by Mr. B. Phillips, 
on the origin of the split bamboo, published in the New York 
“Times,” gives the date as 1848 when Mr. Phillippi used the natural 
bamboo, and subsequently made a joint of bamboo. 

The next date given is about 1860, when Mr. E. A. Green, of 
Newark, N. J., made the first complete split bamboo rod. This date 
cannot be far astray, for Mr. Green made (that is, glued up) for the 
trade a few; and | find my record, made at the time, to be Sept. 16, 
1863. These rods were made in four sections. Mr. Thaddeus Norris, 
of Philadelphia, is mentioned in connection with the invention, but 
he never claimed it. In 1863 or 1864, Mr. Murphy, an acquaintance 
of Mr. Green, commenced to manufacture split bamboo rods for the 
trade ; these were in four sections. 

The first rods constructed in sz sections that were put into the 
market were made by Mr. H. L. Leonard, of Bangor, Me. This 
was about 1870, and Dr. A. H. Fowler soon followed; Mr. Murphy, 
however, claims to have made one some time before. 

The first split bamboo rod that I made myself was in June, 1869. 
It was put together in four sections; made not of Calcutta bamboo, 
but of Chinese, which is much harder, more homogeneous, and more 
difficult to obtain than the former. 

I have thus traced the record of the split bamboo rod on this side 
of the “herring pond,” and now will look into its history on the 
other side. 

Thomas Aldred, of London, claims, and I have never seen it 
disputed, to be the inventor of the three-section glued-up bamboo 


The Split Bamboo Rod. 599 


rod. The date under which Mr. Aldred claims, I have never been 
able to find. It was, however, previous to the Crystal Palace Exhib- 
ition in 1851. There were three exhibitors in the Exhibition at the 
Crystal Palace at London in 1851, viz.: Ainge & Aldred, J. Ber- 
nard, and J. K. Farlow. The rods exhibited were all of three long- 
itudinal sections, the whole length of the cane, and not in sections 
between the knots and glued. Ainge & Aldred also exhibited the 
same rod at the Exhibition in 1853 at New York. 

The first record I have been able to find of the construction of 
the split bamboo rod is in Ephemera’s (Edward Fitzgibbon) ‘‘ Hand- 
book of Angling,” second edition, page 255, London, 1848, where he 
recommends a tip for a salmon rod to be made of bamboo cane rent 
longitudinally into three wedge-shaped pieces, then glued together 
and reduced to the proper tapering thickness, ringed and whipped 
with unusual care and neatness. He adds: “I have changed my 
opinion with respect to rods made entirely of rent cane or any other 
wood rent. Their defects will always more than counterbalance 
their merits.” 

I have not been able to see a copy of the first edition of 
Ephemera’s book, which was published in 1844, in which he had 
evidently recommended the rent and glued rod, the book not 
being in the Lenox or Astor library or in any private library that 
I know of. 

I now quote from Blacker’s “* Fly Making and Angling,” London, 
1855, page 82: 


“The rent and glued-up bamboo cane rods, which I turn out to the greatest per- 
fection, are very valuable, as they are very light and powerful, and throw the line with 
great facility.” 


The first edition of this book, published in 1842, I have also not 
been able to consult. The author was a practical rod-maker, and 
made the split bamboo rod I refer to in the beginning of this article. 

In 1856 there was published in London an edition of Walton’s 
‘“Complete Angler,” edited by Edward Jesse, with notes and papers 
on fishing-tackle by the publisher, Henry G. Bohn. On page 325, 
in the article on rods, he says: 


“The split or glued-up rod is difficult to make well, and very expensive. It is 
made of three pieces of split cane, which some say should have the bark inside, some 
outside, nicely rounded.” 


600 The Split Bamboo Rod. 


In January, 1857, the third edition of “The Practical Angler,” 
by W. C. Stewart, was published in Edinburgh. On page 33, Mr. 
Stewart, in speaking of rods, says: 


“The strength of bamboo lies in the skin, and in order to turn this to best account, 
rod-makers lay two or three strips together so as to form a complete skin all around. 
Rods are sometimes made entirely of bamboo, but they possess no advantage over 
those in common use to compensate for the additional expense, a twelve-foot rod of 
this material costing £3 to £4.” 


At that time, bamboo rods were all made in three sections, with 
the enamel on the outside. I know that Mr. Wilkinson says the 
rods made by Alfred & Sons were put together with the enamel on 
the inside; but | think this must be a mistake, unless he means that 
the enamel was on one side of the longitudinal section extending 
from the apex to the base of the triangle, and when glued is from 
center to circumference. But put the outside of the bamboo on 
the side of the triangle or apex, then the enamel is all gone, no 
matter in what number of sections the rod be made. 

On the whole subject of enamel, there is much misunderstanding. 
No split bamboo rod ever was, is, or can be made with the enamel 
intact, no matter what number of sections or form of its construction, 
for the following reasons : 

Calcutta bamboo ( Lambusa arundinacea), which is the bamboo 
used for making rods, is one of the most useful and important of the 
grass family, and consists of a culm or cylinder (except at the nodes 
or joints, which are about ten to fifteen inches apart) and a solid at 
the nodes, with a projection on the outside of one-fiftieth to one- 
thirtieth of an inch all around, except at the axil, where the branches 
grow on alternate sides. This projection has to be taken off in 
making the rod; then going through the thickness of the enamel 
from five to eight times, for the space of from one to two inches at 
each node, of which there are three in each of the six sections 
(which is the best number of sections from which a split bamboo 
rod can be made). These nodes being the weakest spot in the 
bamboo, in gluing up the sections they are never put on a line with 
one another, but one is moved up, say, two inches; the next down 
two inches, so as to make six less weak spots in the circumference 
of the joint and eighteen in each joint. 


The Split Bamboo Rod. 601 


All the Calcutta bamboo imported into this country or England 
is burned, before being exported, with a red-hot iron of elliptic form 
and from one-half to three-quarters of an inch wide, which destroys 
the strongest fiber immediately in contact with the enamel, and 
loosens the latter, so that, by estimate, about one-fifth of the enamel 
comes off in the working. As you cannot retain it all on the rod, 
it is just as strong if all the enamel is taken off; in fact, the 
enamel, or silex, on the outside of the bamboo only stiffens, but 
does not strengthen it. Glass is melted silex, and no one would 
think a rod was strengthened by giving it a coat of silex varnish. 

It will be seen from the foregoing that in 1848 Ephemera’s 
‘“Hand-book on Angling,” second edition, mentions the conzp/eze three- 
section split bamboo rod as being in use in England, and that the 
first edition of this book, published in 1844, has reference to the 
same rod. In 1851, rods of similar make were exhibited at the 
Crystal Palace by three manufacturers, and two other writers on 
angling mention these rods in their books, published in 1855 and 
1856. The earliest date of manufacture in America of the complete 
split bamboo rod is that of 1860, when Mr. Green, of Newark, N. J., 
made a few rods of this character. 

WiwuiaM MIrTcHELt. 


Since reading the interesting and valuable article by my old 
friend, Mr. William Mitchell, 8 28 I have consulted a 
modest angling library (which has always been at his service, as he 
well knows), and found that it contains both the works which he was 
desirous of seeing. 

The first edition of the ‘“ Hand-book of Angling,” by ‘ Ephe- 
mera” (Edward Fitzgibbon), was published in 1847, not 1844, and 
it was owing to this mistake as to date, no doubt, that it was not to 
be found “in the Lenox or Astor library, or in any private library.” 

Blacker’s first edition (1842) I dismiss from the discussion, as it 
contains no allusion to the construction of split bamboo, or to any 
kind of rod, in fact, but is devoted to the “Art of angling and com- 
plete system of fly-making and dyeing of colors.” 

Mr. Fitzgibbon, in the first edition of his work, pp. 278 e¢ seg., in 
speaking of the construction of a salmon rod, says that he consulted 


602 The Split Bamboo Rod. 


a “Mr. Little, of 15 Fetter Lane, rod-maker to His Royal Highness, 
Prince Albert,” who described the process of making the top and 
middle joints thus : 


“They are to be made from the stoutest pieces of bamboo cane, called ‘jungle,’ 
and brought from India. ‘The pieces should be large and straight, so that you can 
rend them well through knots and all. Each joint should consist of three rent pieces, 
split like the foot of a portable garden chair, and afterward glued together, knot oppo- 
site to knot, or imperfect grain opposite to imperfect grain, but the best part opposite 
to that which may be knotty or imperfect, so as to equalize defectiveness and good- 
ness. ‘The natural badness of the cane you counteract by art, and none save a clever 
workman can do it. ‘The butt of a salmon rod should be made of plank ash or ground 
ash, though many good judges prefer willow or red deal, as being much lighter, and 
where lightness is required the whole rod may be made of cane. The few makers that 
have as yet attempted solid cane or glued-up rods have generally placed the bark or 
hardest part of the cane inside in gluing, and then reduced the joints down on the 
outside to the usual tapermg shape. Give me, however, the workman who glues the 
splices with the bark outside, and then gives his rod a true and correct action, allowing the 
three different barks to be seen visibly on the outside after he has rounded the whole. 

“Tf the pieces are skillfully glued together they will require no reducing, except at 
the corners, to bring the rod from the three-square to the round shape. I am prepared 
to prove that there are not more than three men in London capable of making, per- 
fectly, rods of solid cane, rent, glued, and then correctly finished with the bark lying on 
the outside.” 


Mr. Fitzgibbon goes on to say : 


“Tn my opinion, rods made entirely of lancewood are the worst; and those made 
entirely of rent and glued jungle cane are the best. They must be most carefully fash- 
ioned, and no maker can turn them out without charging a high price. I am also of 
opinion that they will last longer than any other sort of rod, and are far less liable to 
warping. I have a high opinion of their elasticity, and Mr. Bowness, fishing-tackle 
maker, of No. 12 Bellyard, Temple Bar, showed me once a trout fly-rod, made in 
this, my favorite way, ‘hat had been for many years in use {the italics are mine— 
L. D. A.] and was still straight as a wand. I never saw a better single-handed rod.” 


Allowing a reasonable construction to the expression, “ for 
many years,” this would seem to show that rods of “rent and 
jungle cane” were made as far back as 1830-40. 

It would be interesting to know what led to the sudden change 
of opinion as to the merits of such rods of ‘‘Ephemera”; that is 
to say, within the space of a twelvemonth—the period which elapsed 
between the dates of publication of the first and second editions of 
his book. Asa not absolute disbeliever in bamboo rods, I, for one 
at least, confess to a good deal of curiosity upon this point. 


Lawrence D. ALEXANDER. 


On the Invention of the Reel. 603 
ON THE INVENTION OF THE REEL. 


By ALFRED M. MAYER. 


THE first mention of the reel I have been able to find is the 
following passage taken from Barker's “Art of Angling,” London, 
1651. 


“Within two foot of the bottom of the rod there was a hole made for to put in 
a wind, to turn with a barrell to gather up his line, and loose at his pleasure.” 


In the second edition of this work, 1657, the author says: 


“You must have your winder within two foot of the bottom, to goe on your rod 
made in this manner, with a spring, that you may put it on as low as you please.” 


In Izaak Walton’s ‘Compleat Angler,” London, 1655, p. 189, 
second edition, in Chap. VII., containing ‘Observations of the 
Salmon, with Directions how to Fish for Him,” is this passage: 


“ Note also, that many use to fish for a Salmon with a ring of wire on the top of 
their rod, through which the line may run to as great a length as is needful when he is 
hooked. And to that end,some use a wheel about the middle of their rod, or near their 
hand, which is to be observed better by seeing one of them than by a large demon- 
stration of words.” 


But it appears from the directions how to angle given in this 
work that neither Walton nor Cotton made use of the reel. Also, 
the passage just quoted, which mentions the reel, does not exist in 
the first edition of the “Compleat Angler,” published in 1653. 

Among the objects composing the frontispiece to ** The Expe- 
riencd Angler; or, Angling Improved,” by Col. Robert Venables, 
London, 1662, is a good representation of a reel or winch. In this 
work occur the following directions as to the use of the reel: 


“The next way of angling is with a troll for the Pike, which is very delightful; you 
may buy your troll ready made, therefore I shall not trouble myself to describe it, only 
let it havé a winch to wind it withall * * * * * * and then you may 
certainly conclude he hath pouched your bait, and rangeth abroad no more; then 
with your troll wind up your line, till you think you have it almost straight; then with 
a sharp jerk hook him, and make your pleasure to your content. * * * * * * 
The Salmon takes the artificial fly very well; but you must use a troll, as for the Pike, 
or he, being a strong fish, will hazard your line, except you give him length.” 


604 Lhe Artificial Fly and Silk-Worm Gut. 


Juliana Berners, in her ‘ Treatyse of Fysshynge with an Angle,” 
printed in 1496, does not speak of the reel. 


ON THE ORIGIN OF THE ARTIFICIAL FLY AND THE SILK-WORM GUT. 
By ALFRED M. MAYER. 


“Who has not seen the scarus rise, 
Decoy’d and caught by fraudful flies ?” 
MARTIAL, A. D. 43-104. 


Tue earliest explicit account of the use of the artificial fly is by 
AZlian, a Latin author of the early part of the third century. In his 
“De Natura Animalium,” a work originally written in Greek, we 
read : 


“JT have heard of a Macedonian way of catching fish, and it is this: Between 
Beroca and Thessalonica runs a river called the Astracus, and in it there are fish with 
spotted (or speckled) skins; what the natives of the country call them you had better 
ask the Macedonians. ‘These fish feed on a fly which is peculiar to the country, and 
which hovers over the river. It is not like flies found elsewhere, nor does it resemble 
a wasp in appearance, nor in shape would one justly describe it as a midge or a bee; it 
imitates the color of the wasp, and it hums like a bee. The natives call it Hippouros. 
As these flies seek their food over the water, they do not escape the observation of the 
fish swimming below. When, then, a fish observes a fly hovering above, it swims 
quickly up, fearing to agitate the river, lest it should scare away its prey; then coming 
up by its shadow, it opens its jaws and gulps down the fly, like a wolf carrying off a 
sheep from the flock or an eagle a goose from the farm-yard. Having done this, it 
withdraws under the rippling water. Now, though the fishermen know of this, they do 
not use these flies at all for bait for the fish; for if a man’s hand touch them, they lose 
their color, their wings decay, and they become unfit for food for the fish. For this 
reason, they have nothing to do with them, hating them for their bad character; but 
they have planned a snare for the fish, and get the better of them by their fisherman’s 
craft. They fasten red (crimson-red) wool round a hook, and fit on to the wool two 
feathers, which grow under a cock’s wattles, and which in color are like wax. Their 
rod is six feet long, and the line is of the same length. Then they throw their snare, 
and the fish, attracted and maddened by the color, comes up, thinking, from the pretty 
sight, to get a dainty mouthful. When, however, it opens its jaws, it is caught by the 
hook, and enjoys a bitter repast—a captive.” 


Subsequent to Elian’s time, fly-fishing is not mentioned by any 
author till Dame Juliana Berners, in 1496, writes of it as a mode 
of angling well known, for she introduces the subject abruptly, as 
follows : 


Weight and Length of Brook- Trout. 605 


‘““Thyse ben the xij flyes wyth whyche ye shall angle to ye trought & grayllyng : 
and dubbe lyke as ye shall now here me tell.” 

She then describes “the donne flye, a nother doone flye, the 
stone flye, the yelowe flye, the black louper, the donne cutte, 
the maure flye, the taudy flye, the waspe flye, the shell flye, 
and the drake flye,” and gives the months to which they are espe- 
cially adapted. An idea of her description is given in the following: 

“In the begynnynge of Maye, a good flye, the body of roddyd wull & lappid 
abowte wyth blacke sylke: the wynges of the drake & of the redde capons hakyll.” 

Dr. Bethune says: ‘The twelve flies in the Berner’s Tfeatise 
are the substratum of the mystery Colton has built up wisely and 
correctly.” 

“James Saunders, in his ‘Compleat Fisherman,’ London, 1724, is the first angling 
author who mentions silk-worm gut (pp. 91-92) ; but Pepys, in his diary, says (March 
18, 1667): ‘This day Mr. Cesar told me a pretty experiment of his angling with a 
minikin, a gutt-string varnished over, which keeps it from swelling, and is beyond 
any hair for strength and smallness. The secret I like mightily’ (Vol. III., p. 177, 
Edition 1828). A writer in the “ Field” (Jan. 2, 1864), on the subject of silk-worm gut, 
says: ‘About three months since, Mr. Geo. Bowness, of Bellyard, shewed me an ad- 
vertisement of his grandfather’s, date 1760, announcing that the new article, silk-worm 
gut, is to be had there. This pretty nearly fixes the date of its introduction into the 
tackle trade.’ ”»— From Siblhotheca Piscatoria. 


RELATION BETWEEN THE WEIGHT AND LENGTH OF BROOK-TROUT. 


By W. Hopcson ELLIs. 


Two summers ago I formed one of a little party of anglers who 
spent the first three weeks of July and the first week of August on 
the north shore of Lake Superior. While there we made a number 
of careful observations of the weight and length of the trout we 
caught. The result of these observations I have collected in a table, 
showing the average weight corresponding to each inch in length 
from thirteen to twenty-three inches, the number of observations 
from which each average was determined, and also the correspond- 
ing weights calculated on the assumption that the weight varies as 
the cube of the length. 

Two conclusions may be drawn from these observations: First, 
that under similar conditions all trout have the same shape. Secondly, 
that they grow symmetrically; that is, a five pounder is the same 


606 Weight and Length of Brook -Trout. 


shape as a pounder. It is unnecessary to add that these conclusions 
can only be true under similar conditions. We cannot compare well- 
fed trout with half-starved ones, nor trout full of spawn with those 
not in that condition. Nor have we any right to suppose that figures 
deduced from observation on Lake Superior trout will apply to those 
caught elsewhere. 

The growth of a trout takes place in three dimensions—length, 
breadth, and thickness; and if the growth is symmetrical, each of 
these dimensions will increase in the same proportion. Thus, if one 
fish is twice as long as another, he will also be twice as thick and 
twice as deep. He will, therefore, be ezg#¢ times as heavy. In 
other words, the weight varies as the cube of the length. 

If, then, we divide the cube of the length of a trout by the cube 
of the length of a pound trout, we shall, if the trout grows symmet- 
rically, obtain the weight of that trout in pounds. 

We see by the table that the length of a pound trout is thirteen 
inches, but as this number is only founded on one observation, it will 
not do to base our calculations upon it. 

We can, however, from the length of a four-pound, three-and-a 
half-pound, three-pound, and two-and-a-half pound trout, calculate 
what the length of a pound trout ought to be. We find that the 
numbers obtained from all these four starting points agree exactly ; 
and hence we obtain the number 13.17 inches as the length of a 
pound trout. The cube of 13.17 is 2286; and hence, if w=the 
weight in pounds, and /—the length in inches, of any trout: 

ip 


i — 


2286 

The correspondence between the numbers calculated by this 
method and those found by observation is rendered still more strik- 
ing, if we express them graphically, by representing the length on 
a horizontal scale, and drawing at each inch a perpendicular propor- 
tionstolthe weichtintn soe 

The result will be a regular curve, almost coincident with that 
obtained from the formula given above. 

Our trout were almost all caught in the lake, off rocky points, 
and at the mouths of small streams. They were in excellent con- 
dition. The average weight of our whole catch was two and a half 
pounds. 


Weight and Length of Brook- Trout. 607 


Curve showing the relation between the length and weight of brook-trout. 

‘The continuous heavy line represents the results of observation. 

The dotted line shows where the theoretical curve differs from that obtained by 
observation. 


: 
: 
: 
i‘ 


Mie Pie BE RIK Sle 
+ 


i 
& ie 
a FA 
3i x 
a 

1} 5 

: (ee ae 

: ee 

| 

1 

4, 


ai 
Se a 
(Seal aed 
ee 
oom Rae 
ae 
= ee 
at a 
Se as 


peel 
cite 
[ease] 
a= 
ca 
= 
el 
ead 
Saal 


i 4 
13 4 15 16 7 sdtiont 19 20 21 2 23 
Calculated from for- 
Observed average mula 73 
Length in inches. Number of observations. weight in Ibs. i 

2286 
23 I sy Rage 
22 2 494 4.65 
21 6 4 4.05 
20 12 3% Sr pete’. 5 3-50 
9) 9 3 S200 
18 9 2% 2.55 
17 10 24 pho) Gta 2.15 
16 9 134 1.79 
15 6 1% aoa ayee is 1.48 
14 3 ry Sea ycees 1.20 
13 I I a Mstledl cs -96 


608 Weight and Length of Brook- Trout. 


The foregoing article by Mr. W. Hodgson Ellis, of the School 
of Practical Science, Toronto, Canada, is here reprinted by per- 
mission of the author and the editor of “The American Angler,” 
in which journal it was first published. 

Mr. Ellis has put to the tests of measure and weight the 
opinions which Sir Humphrey Davy thus gives expression to 
in his “‘Salmonias sor, ~Daysvof- Ply -Fishine- Edit.) ona 
HOS Pass 


Porrres.—This great fish that Ornither has just caught must be nearly of the weight 
I assigned to him. 

Hatizus.—Oh, no! he is, I think, above 5 lbs., but not 6 lbs.; but we can form 
a more correct opinion by measuring him, which I can easily do, the butt of my rod 
being a measure. He measures, from nose to fork, a very little less than twenty-four 
inches, and consequently, upon the scale which is appropriate to well-fed trout, should 
weigh 5 Ibs. ro oz.,—which, within an ounce, I doubt not, is his weight. 

Puysicus.—Oh! I see you take the mathematical law, that similar solids are to 
each other in the triplicate ratio of one of their dimensions. 

Hatizus.—You are right. 

Puysicus.—But I think you are below the mark, for this appears to me to be an 
extraordinarily thick fish. 

Hatieus.— He is a well-fed fish, but in proportion not so thick as my model, which 
was a fish of seventeen inches by nine inches, and weighed 2 lbs.; this is my standard 
solid. We will try him. Ho! Mrs. B., bring your scales and weigh this fish. There, 
you see, he weighs 5 lb. 10% oz. 


The following relations I found to exist between the length and 
weight of trout caught in the head-waters of the Androscoggin and 
Dead Rivers in Franklin County, Maine: 


Length. Weight. Length. Weight. 
834 inches . . . . Y% pound. 1234 inches . . . . 34 pound. 
II ce Mspiee gst Migr 7 mae 14 cc eg eee ac ce 


The relations are the results of many measures and weighings, and 
will serve to supply the length and weight of trout smaller than those 
given in Mr. Ellis’s table. 

It appears that the Lake Superior trout are stouter than those 
of the Maine waters above named, for I have found from many 
measures that a Maine brook-trout of one pound weight meas- 
ures exactly fourteen inches from tip of nose to middle of end 
of caudle fin. Mr. Ellis gives 13.17 inches for the length of a 


Weight and Length of Brook -Trout. 609 


pound trout. In applying his formula to the trout of Maine, it 
should read : ie 


— iad 
2744 


Sir Humphrey Davy’s statement, that an English trout (.Sadmo 
fario) 7 inches long weighs 2 lbs., agrees to 4 lb. with the weight 
of an American brook-trout (Salvelinus fontinalis) 17 inches in 
length, as given in Mr. Ellis’s table. If we take the weight of this 
sized trout as given by the theoretic curve of Mr. Ellis’s diagram, it 
will differ only 2 oz. from the weight of Sir Humphrey Davy’s 17- 
inch fish. 

If a stick be notched at distances from one of its ends equal 
to those corresponding to the lengths of trout of from 1% lb. to 5 Ibs. 
in weight, it might serve the double purpose of a club wherewith 
mercifully to kill the trout as soon as caught by giving him a blow 
back of the head, and to serve as a standard of measures wherewith 
our “brother of the angle” may obtain the weight of his fish, and 
thereby put a bridle on his imagination, and make of himself a 
truthful man when he speaketh of the great weights of fish caught in 
certain waters.—[EpirTor. | 


* This law will not hold good for Maine trout over five or six pounds in weight, 
for after they have reached that weight they do not grow symmetrically, but become 
obese. Ina letter from Mr. Ellis, referring to the trout whose weight and length are 
given in the above table, he says: ‘Our trout were beautiful, symmetrical fellows, and 
in capital condition.” 


39 


FEATHERED GAME 


‘ 
if 


Together let us beat t 
Try what the open, what the 


. 


’ it ue F 
<e . 
pany 


Ps 


SOMES AMERICAN SPORTING DOGS. 


By WILLIAM M. TILESTON. 


O WRITE of sporting dogs, or, in other parlance, of dogs 
used for field-work, without mentioning the fox-hound, would 
be like representing the play of ‘‘ Hamlet” with the melan- 

choly Dane himself omitted. Yet I am fain to confess that this 
noble dog is the one with which I am least familiar. Certainly, I 
have heard his deep-toned voice while following the trail of a deer 
in northern woods, but he was only a degenerate scion of a noble 
race. I have followed another, still more degenerate, when the 
light snow showed the tracks of poor bunny where she wandered 
through the swamp in search of bud or berry for her morning meal. 
But the true fox-hound, without a cross, and bred with care, is a 
vara canis, at least in the northern States. And yet the fox-hound 
— certainly if we judge by the proclivities of the original settlers of 
different regions — was probably the first dog introduced into this 
country. It is not likely that the Pilgrim Fathers were given to 
the sports of the field; and yet what glorious shooting there must 
have been in the old commonwealth when the J/ayflower first 
dropped her anchor. How the ruffed grouse must have bred in the 
deep pine-woods! How the snipe must have swarmed in the 
meadows! and the woodcock in the swamps! And the deer, undis- 
turbed by the sound of fire-arms or the bay of hound, how they must 
have increased and multiplied ! 

But whatever the Roundheads did, the Cavaliers who went to 
Virginia certainly carried their amusements with them, though tradi- 
tion says not whether John Smith had dogs with him, or if the gentle 
Sir Walter discovered the nicotian weed through the medium of 


616 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


a sharp-nosed hound. Still, the fox-hound was introduced into 
Virginia at a very early day, and in that State, and perhaps in one 
or two others, he is to be found, and is still bred in comparative 
purity,— not that I would infer that pure-bred hounds are not to be 
seen elsewhere. Individuals are occasionally to be met with, and in 
the pack of Mr. Joe Donahue, who hunts near Hackensack, are to be 
found some fine specimens. Nor is it of any use for the most ardent 
fox-hunter of to-day to import dogs from England. It was not until 
the latter part of the seventeenth century that fox-hunting and the 
breeding of fox-hounds were pursued systematically in Great Britain, 
and it was probably in the middle of the succeed- 
ing century that the sport was brought across 
the water. It is a well-known fact that fox- 
hunting was a fashionable amusement in Virginia 
long prior to the Revolution, and it is not 
improbable that the old style of Spanish pointer, 
then fashionable in England, shortly followed the 


DEER-HOUND. 


fox-hound. To fox-hunting, however, we must give the first place as a 
sport followed with the aid of a dog, and in spite of vicissitudes and 
tribulations of every kind, the southern gentleman still follows his pack, 
and enjoys the chase with the same zest as his forefathers. The 
_-— x, fox-hound of to-day in America, however, is a very 

Vl os) different animal from the hound now fashionable in 

fe England, and the choicest draft from the Quorn or 
Jar the Pytchley would be found almost useless in a 
“4 country so thickly timbered and with such high rail- 

fences as ours. In the earlier days of the colonies, 
the hounds then imported were much better suited to the needs of 
the sportsmen. A slow dog, such as was fashionable in the days of 
Squire Western, before hunting came to more closely resemble 
steeple-chasing (as it does now), was the dog which found favor 
with our Virginia gentlemen, and whose characteristics have been 
since adhered to. Not but that speed is desirable in a hound, but 
in our country it would be difficult, if not impossible, to follow him ; 


GREYHOUND. 


and the introduction into the pack of one dog such as is now 

used in England would most probably result in spoiling the sport. 
Whatever may have been the quality of the first hounds imported, 

some of the bluest blood of the English kennels was subsequently 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 617 


THE MEET AT THE ‘‘HARP AND EAGLE," NEAR PHILADELPHIA, 1823. 


crossed with it. In 1825, Robert Oliver, the merchant prince of 
Baltimore, imported some celebrated black, white and tan hounds from 
Ireland, whose descendants are still highly prized. Subsequently, 
Commodore Stockton was presented by Sir Harry Goodricke, master 
of the Quorn, with several couples from that pack, some of whom 
were given to the late Mr. John S. Skinner, of Baltimore, who sent 
them to Wade Hampton, Esq.,— father of the gentleman at present 
bearing that name,— who used them for hunting deer in the neigh- 
borhood of the White Sulphur Springs, Va. Afterward they went 
to his estate in South Carolina, where their blood has been mixed 


with that of the older strains until probably none of it remains in its 
purity. Fox-hunting, however, was not entirely confined to the 
Southern States, as will be seen by the following notice, which 
appeared in the ‘“ United States Gazette,” published in Philadelphia, 
on October 29, 1823: 


TO GENTLEMEN SPORTSMEN.—A FINE RED FOX (LATELY 
caught) to be started from the house of Mr. James Greenham, sign of the Harp and 
Eagle, near the Upper Ferry, Schuylkill Bridge, on Friday, the 31st inst., at half-past 
one o’clock, P. M. Gentlemen sportsmen desirous of attending said chase will be 
thankfully received, and are particularly requested to bring their dogs, as this is for no 
benefit, any more than hoping said sportsmen will put their mites toward paying the 
cost of this advertisement. 


618 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


The fox appears to have been only a ‘ bagman,” and the hounds 
a scrub pack selected for the occasion. I have been writing now 
only of the hound as he is used in fox-hunting; in almost every sec- 
tion of the country where deer are found the fox-hound is used for 
hunting them. Here speed is most desirable, as the hunter does 
not expect to follow his dogs, but takes his station by some run-way 
or pond where the deer is almost sure to pass. Great strength is 
also a capital quality, as a buck at bay is no mean antagonist, and a 
first-class deer-hound should not only possess the intelligence but 
the ability to catch a deer by the hind leg and throw him. 


RABBIT-HUNTING WITH BEAGLES. 


Fox-hounds, generally mongrels, are also used for hunting rab- 
bits (hares) in this country; but a much more valuable dog for this 
purpose, and one which is fast coming in demand, is the little beagle, 
a miniature fox-hound, being from ten to twelve inches only in 
height at the shoulder. Merry workers they are, and to see a pack 
of them working on the scent of a hare (for we have no true rabbits, 
wild, in this country) is worth going miles to see. [ am astonished. 
that some gentlemen do not get together a pack of beagles. They 
can be followed on foot, and there are numbers of places within an 
hour or two's ride of New York where hares can be found in ample 
quantities for sport. Somewhat similar to the beagle, in size at 
least, although they differ in having crooked fore-legs, is the dachs- 
hund, a dog of German extraction. (John Phoenix said of some one 
bred in a like manner, that his father was a Dutchman and his 
mother a duchess.) Dr. Twaddell, of Philadelphia, has some of 
pure breed, the finest in this country. 

As a rule, however, nowadays, when one speaks of a sporting 
dog, he is generally supposed to refer to a dog used in connection 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 619 


BY Se ae — 
Webs 


2 Sor 


POINTERS OF FIFTY YEARS AGO. FROM AN OLD PRINT. 


with a gun; and it is more particularly with those varieties that I 
feel at home, and regarding which I propose to write; premising 
that I am addressing the general reader as well as those young 
sportsmen who for lack of time and opportunity have yet to learn 
their A, B, C’s in dog matters. The interest in dogs, particularly 
those used in shooting, has of late so increased that scores of would- 
be critics and authorities have sprung up. Without pretending to 
the erudition of those professors in canine lore, my object is to 
impart to the class first mentioned such information, the result of 
my own experience, as will aid them, not only in deciding what 
description of dog may best suit their purposes, but also in keeping 
their dogs in health and right condition. To further assist my 
endeavors, I have selected for illustration such dogs as are types of 
their various classes, and who have attained celebrity on the show- 
bench and in the field. Those who are not in the habit of reading 
the sporting literature of the day—and I mean by this the literature 
provided for the sportsman, not the sporting man—would be sur- 
prised were they made aware of the amount of paper spoiled and 
ink spilled in the wordy warfare which has been carried on for two 
or three years past, relative to the merits and demerits of various 
strains. Nor is the discussion confined to strains alone. I find 
myself at the outset called upon to decide, or at least so to describe 


620 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


that the reader can decide for himself, upon the relative merits of the 
two principal varieties of the dogs over which we shoot our game: 
namely, the setters and the pointers. ; 

If our country were more circumscribed in its limits; were our 
shooting confined, say, to the States of New York, New Jersey, and 
Pennsylvania, the question would be one easily solved; for, if we 
except snipe-shooting on the meadows, most of our gunning is done 
in coverts; filled, perhaps, with low growing underbrush or thick and 
tangled vines and briers. It is true that quails feed in the stubble, 
and the bevies are usually first flushed in the open, but they immedi- 
ately seek the recesses of swamp or wood, where they must be 
followed and routed singly if the bag is to be filled. The woodcock, 
the king of our game birds, haunts, in summer particularly, only the 
densest cover, where, by some little stream or marshy thicket, he finds 
in the yielding ooze and soft earth the worms and larve which form 
his diet. It therefore stands to reason that the dog for our purpose 
would be one like the setter, whose thick coat of hair would enable 
him to withstand the attacks of briers and brush, and all the effects 
of wet and cold; whose feet, provided by nature with tufts of hair 
between the toes, carry him without injury over the sharp flints of 
the mountain-side, where the ruffed grouse (partridge) loves to bask 
among the old logs and dead trees. 

But our country is not all briery thicket or rough mountain-side. 
At the West there is the ‘boundless prairie,” the home of the pin- 
nated grouse, or “chicken”; where ‘‘cat” or ‘bull” briers are not 
found, and where wading is comparatively unknown. Here the 
sleek-coated pointer is in his element; for ‘“‘chicken”-shooting in 
most States begins in August, and the heavy-coated setter suffers 
from the heat and want of water, while the pointer with his close 
hair hunts on, asking only for an occasional lap of water, until the 
day’s work is done. In many places also the Canada thistle abounds, 
the burrs of which become so entangled in the coat of the setter as 
to cause him perfect misery. I have quite recently known of several 
instances of dogs positively refusing to work until the burrs were 
removed. In all such places the pointer is undoubtedly the best dog 
to shoot over. But all sportsmen do not go to the prairies in 
August, nor is the pinnated grouse the only game bird to be found 
there. In the latter part of September the ducks and snipe begin to 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 621 


FOX-HUNTING IN THE SOUTH. 


arrive on their annual southern migration; and then we have not 
only the cold weather which makes the setter comfortable in his 
thicker jacket, but we must go into the wet lands to find snipe, and 
the ponds or lakes for ducks. Here the setter undeniably has the 
advantage ; for although the pointer will go into the water if ordered, 
or, if highly bred, into the most tangled thicket, his shivering and 
shaking discomfort in the one instance, and his lacerated and bleeding 
skin in the other, make him an object of compassion to a considerate 
master, and militate against the pleasures of the hunt. But the 
question is by no means, as yet, decided against the pointer. There 
is another thing in his favor which is well worthy of consideration 
before we arrive at a conclusion, and that is the comparative ease 
with which he is broken, and his excellent quality of retaining his 
education when once it has been fully perfected. Indeed, so much 
am I impressed with the value of that quality, that I should almost 
‘be tempted, in spite of a strong pexchant for the setter, to suggest to 


622 Some Americar Sporting Dogs. 


a friend who would shoot but occasionally, and desired to break his 
own dogs, to choose a pointer in preference. But to those who are 
skillful in handling dogs, and who are so situated as to be able to 
keep their dogs in work during the shooting season, there can scarcely 
be a doubt that the setter is the better dog. Certainly he is the choice 


RED IRISH SETTER ‘‘ DICK.” (OWNED BY WM. JARVIS, CLAREMONT, N. H.) 


of the larger number of sportsmen, although it must be admitted that 
fashion prevails here as everywhere, and the setter is the fashionable 
dog of the day. Of course, in both setters and pointers there are 
exceptions to the general rules I have given, and individuals of either 
variety are to be found possessing the best qualities attributed to 
both. 

Leaving the question of superiority, let us look at the different 
breeds and strains of both setters and pointers to which the choice 
must be narrowed down. There are now in this country two public 
tests for sporting dogs at which their qualities may be decided,— 
bench-shows and field trials. At bench-shows dogs are exhibited in 
raised pens or boxes, and being taken before a duly appointed and 
presumably competent person, are judged by a certain standard for 
each variety, which I shall presently mention. This test, of course, 
is similar to one which a race-horse would pass in his box, and 
although it might be an indication, through form, of speed, endur- 
ance, and intelligence, it would be no index of the possession of 
those two great requisites, “nose,” or scenting power, and “stanch- 
ness,” without the former of which the most highly bred dog would 
be as valueless as the most worthless cur. At field trials dogs are 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 623 


BLACK AND WHITE SETTER ‘' GUY MANNERING.” WINNER OF THE SCOTT SPECIAL PRIZE 
FOR BEST ‘‘NATIVE ENGLISH’ SETTER AT THE CENTENNIAL BENCH-SHOW. (OWNED BY 
DUDLEY OLCOTT, OF ALBANY, N. Y.) 


pitted against each other on their game, and judgment given 
through a certain scale of merits and demerits: they are awarded 
points for pointing their birds, for stanchness, pace, style, backing, 
and retrieving; or, deprived of them, for flushing birds, for backing, 
or for refusing to drop to shot or wing. It is obvious, however, 
that in the limited time allowed for a “trial,” that the best dog 
might not always have the same opportunities to show his qualities 
as one his inferior. Still, when the rules shall have been perfected, 
the field trial will be a satisfactory test of the qualities of a dog for 
the purposes required. 

Setters are divided into three classes, the English, Irish, and 
Gordon; these being usually divided again, at bench-shows, into 
native and imported classes. It is principally over the English 
setters—and the term is supposed to include those of every color 
but red, which would indicate Irish blood, and black-and-tan, which 
is the color of the Gordons—that the fight has been carried on, one 
side claiming that the native dog—that is, one whose pedigree 
could not be traced directly to some imported celebrity — was a 
mongrel, and the other maintaining with equal persistency that the 
“blue blood,” or imported dogs, were utterly unfit for our work, 
and that the careful but in many instances ‘‘in and in” breeding had 
resulted in deterioration. Of course both sides were, to a certain 
extent, right; but, as is usual in violent partisanship, overeagerness 
had carried the matter beyond solid argument, and the outsider was 
left as much as ever in the dark. It must be admitted that, until 


624 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


the inauguration of bench-shows, breeding in this country, as a rule, 
was conducted in a most careless and slipshod manner, yet I believe 
we had strains of dogs, as well as individuals, which, even allowing 
each the benefit of its own ground and training, were fully equal, 
‘certainly as field performers, to any across the water. That we 


GORDON SETTER ‘‘ LOU.” 


would have coxtznxued to possess them I very much doubt. Careless 
breeding, with no regard to the selection of the fittest, and no atten- 
tion to pedigrees, combined with the fact that there are ten men to- 
day who shoot over dogs to where there was one twenty-five years 
ago, would soon have worn out the stock, had it not been renewed 
and regenerated with imported blood. There is no comparison be- 
tween the amount of work demanded of our dogs and that required 
in England. Here, the average sportsman owns but one dog, and 
that one is expected to work from morning until night, day in and 
day out; while across the water no one thinks of going to the moors 
without at least half a dozen dogs, which are worked alternately in 
braces, Nor are their dogs taught or allowed to retrieve. A curly- 
coated retriever follows at the keeper’s heels and brings in the dead, 
— British sportsmen having a theory that fetching dead birds injures 
the dog’s scenting powers. The crossing of these ‘‘blue bloods” 
with the best of our natives is the true theory of breeding by which 
we will perpetuate the best qualities of both. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, if a dog comes with a long pedigree from a widely advertised 
English kennel he is bred too indiscriminately without regard to his 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 625 


RETRIEVING. 


qualifications for begetting good offspring, and much disappointment 
is the result. ‘‘Imported” is the magic word which covers a multi- 
tude of imperfections. Fortunately, very many dogs of well-known 
excellence have come to this country, and now that the matter has 
been fully discussed and a proper impetus given, our breeds are 
rapidly improving, and I believe it is an admitted fact that we have 
field dogs whose superiors are not to be found. As a specimen of 
the high-bred dog from imported stock, I have chosen ‘Guy Man- 
nering,” bred by Charles H. Raymond, Esq., of Morris Plains, N. J. 
This dog is the produce of ‘ Pride of the Border” and “ Fairy,”’—a 
pair of celebrated Laveracks, imported by Mr. Raymond from the 
kennels of the gentleman whose name is given to the strain, and who 
has bred them in purity for more than fifty years. 

The setters known as the native English (a misnomer, as native 
American would be more proper) are generally, in color, orange and 
white, lemon and white, black and white, red and white, liver-colored 
and white, or all black; although they are to be found of a liver and 


40 


626 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


tan or, in fact, of almost any known combinations of the colors men- 
tioned except those of orange and lemon and black. The points by 
which they are judged in this country—perfection in these points 
is supposed to make the acme of a dog—are as follows: 


“Head long, and somewhat narrow, with a fair distance from the eye to the end of 
the nose, which should not be snipy or ant-eater like; skull a little prominent; ears set 
on low and flat, not thrown back; the least stop just above or across the eyes; jaws 
level, with a little fullness of lip just at the back of the mouth; eye large but not pro- 
truding, with a quick appearance; neck thin and deep at setting-in on chest, moder- 
ately long and slightly arched, with no appearance of throatiness; shoulder-blades long 
and well receding at the points, with a flatness of shoulder-sides not noticed in any 
other dog; narrow at shoulder-point, but great muscular development in the shoulder- 
blades and fore-arms; chest very deep, not over narrow between the fore-legs. Fore- 
legs strong and muscular in the fore-arm; leg straight, with a slight, elastic-like 
appearance ; foot moderately round, but oftener flat; back wide, deeply ribbed, lower- 
ing slightly from the shoulder to the hip; lois wide and very muscular; stifles full and 
well developed; hock well bent; stern [tail] carried almost level with the back, a 
moderate length, well flagged from the root, wearing off to nothing at tip of stern; 
coat wavy or straight, fine and silky, free from curl, especially on hind-quarters.” 


The Irish setter is a dog now fast coming into fashion with us. 
He is wiry and enduring, but headstrong, requiring a deal of work 
to keep him in command. When well bred they are remarkably 
handsome dogs, as will be seen from the portrait of Mr. Jarvis’s 


“Dick.” His bench-show points are as follows: 


“Head narrow, widening a little in the forehead, skull slightly arched; ears a fair 
length, slightly folded, hanging straight, set well back in the head, and moderately 
feathered; eye hazel or brownish, with a sensible and loving look, not prominent ; nose 
dark flesh-color, or black; chest but moderately wide, with great depth; back straight, 
but slightly receding to the hip, with good loins and well-bent stifles; stern carried 
slightly up, not much flagged, but slightly; coat inclined to be harsh, not soft and 
silky, smooth or wavy, and thick, but not too long; color a deep mahogany-red, but 
not any black; white, however, is allowable in some Irish breeds on chest and legs 
and neck.” 


The Gordon setter, in spite of a well-known English authority, 
from whom indeed we have received our points for judging, does 
possess the “go-ahead qualities now required.” How any one who 
has shot over well-bred Gordons can make such an assertion, I am 
at a loss to imagine. Those that I have seen in the field have been 
dogs of remarkable endurance, and the rich beauty of their silky black- 
and-tan coats, and their affectionate dispositions, are unsurpassed 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 627 


by any other breed. ‘“Idstone” says he has seen better setters of 
the black-and-tan than of any other breed. Their heads are a little 
heavier than the English setters, they have more flew, are deeper in 


HEAD OF POINTER ‘‘SENSATION.”’ (OWNED BY WESTMINSTER KENNEL CLUB, NEW-YORK CLE.) 


chest and body, with more bone; otherwise their points vary but 
little. Much, however, depends upon their coats, which must be a 
glossy black with a slight wave allowed, but no suspicion of a curl, 
and the tan with which they are marked should be of the richest red. 
Before leaving the setters, a word as to their origin may not be 
out of place. Most authorities claim that the setter was known in 
England long before the pointer was introduced, he being a direct 
descendant of the spaniel. In fact, they are spoken of as “setting 
spaniels,” being used, before the introduction of fowling-pieces, to aid 
in securing game by first finding the birds and then “setting” or 
pointing in that position while the net was passed over dog and birds 
together. In time, after the introduction of the pointer, they came 
to point their game in the same manner, although even now we 
occasionally find a setter that drops or crouches to the ground 
immediately upon scenting his birds. 

Although the colors of pointers at the present day are quite as 
varied as those of setters, there is but little doubt that the color of 
the old Spanish pointers, from whom they are all descended, was a 
liver and white. Color is quite a matter of fancy, but I confess to a 
preference for orange and white in the setter, and lemon and white 


628 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


in the pointer. But whatever the color, the good points of this dog 
are to be seen almost at a glance, from his build and the shortness 
of his coat. The fashionable pointer of the present day is a very 
different animal from his heavy, lumbering ancestor. Many years 
ago, a cross of fox-hound was introduced, and to that we are indebted 


BLACK-AND-WHITE POINTER ‘‘ WHISKY.'’ (OWNED BY WESTMINSTER KENNEL CLUB, 
NEW-YORK CITY.) 


for the lighter-framed, more elegant animal we now possess, and 
probably also for the variations in color from the old orthodox liver, 
or liver and white. ‘Idstone” says that the pointer should be 
modeled to a great extent after the fox-hound, but that his head 
should be finer, his nose square, the upper lip slightly in excess 
of the lower, the corners of the mouth well flewed. The forehead 
should be raised but not round; it should be depressed in the center, 
almost forming a ridge [z. ¢., the furrow down the middle of the 
head separates it into two slightly rounded halves]. There should be 
a well-pronounced ‘‘stop” between the eyes; the ears should be 
thin, flexible and silky, of moderate size, set rather far back, but 
lying close to the head. The nasal bone should be depressed in the 
center, and should turn upward slightly. The head of “Sensation,” 
in the cut on the preceding page, conforms more closely to these 
conditions than that of any other dog I have seen. The other 
proportions by which the pointer is judged in this country are as 
follows : ; 


“ Body rather inclined to be long, but not much so, thickening from the head to the 
set-in of the shoulders: no looseness of the throat-skin, shoulders narrow at the meeting 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 629 


LIVER-AND-WHITE POINTER ‘‘ RANGER.’ (OWNED BY S. B. DILLY, LAKE CITY, MINN.) 


of the blade-bones, with a great amount of muscle, long in the blades, set slanting, 
with arm of the leg strong and coming away straight, and elbow neither out nor in; 
the legs not great, heavy-boned, but with a great amount of muscle ; leg pressed straight 
to the foot, well rounded and symmetrical, with foot well rounded, that is, the fore-legs 
and feet; chest moderately deep, not over-wide, but sufficiently wide and deep to give 
plenty of breathing room; back level, wide in loins; deeply ribbed, and with mbs car- 
ried well back; hips wide and full of muscle, not straight in the hock, but moderately 
bent; stifles full and well developed; the stern nearly straight, going off tapering to 
the point, set in level with the back, carried straight, not above the level of back; sym- 
metry and general appearance racy; and much beauty of form appears to the eye of a 
real pointer breeder and fancier.” 


At our bench-shows, pointers are divided into two classes, those 
weighing under, and those over, fifty pounds. It is difficult to name 
the period when pointers were first brought to this country. I have 
traced some as far back as 1810, when a gentleman from Sheffield, 
England, brought a brace to Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where the 
“bird-dogs” were objects of great curiosity. 1 know of no one at 
the present day who has bred them more carefully or for a longer 
time than Mr. Frederick Schuchard, of New York. For high courage, 
keen nose, and most perfect stanchness, | know of no pointer the 
superior of Mr. Dilly’s ‘‘Ranger,’—a dog who is worked on the 
prairies almost every day of the season, and of whom it is said by 
his admirers, ‘‘he never flushed a bird.” 

4OA 


630 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


COCKER SPANIELS ‘ SNIP" AND “JULIET.” (OWNED BY S. J. BESTOK, HARTFORD, CONN.) 


There is a dog which is destined to become a great favorite in 
this country, and I doubt not that we have a much larger sphere for 
his usefulness than they have in England. This is the little cocker 
spaniel. He is a merry, active worker, not pointing his birds, but 
giving tongue when he strikes the scent, which he follows until the 
bird is flushed. In our thick, almost impenetrable covers, particu- 
larly where woodcock are shot, in summer, the cocker is especially 
valuable, as he can make his way under briers and into places where 
alarger dog could not penetrate. In such shooting the dog is almost 
always out of sight of his master, anda stanch setter or pointer might 
be lost on his point; whereas, the cocker, by giving tongue, apprises 
the gunner, not only of his own whereabouts, but also of the presence 
of game. Could I countenance such an unsportsman-like proceeding 
as shooting a bird while sitting, I might say that they would be use- 
ful for treeing ruffed grouse instead of the mongrels now used; but 
their real value is in woodcock shooting. The illustration of Mr. 
Bestor’s fine imported dogs sufficiently describes their general ap- 
pearance. There is another variety of spaniel, the clumber, which 
is deservedly popular in England, as possessing all the advantages in 
cover shooting of the cocker, but hunts mute. They are rare even 
on the other side, and the only pure specimens I have seen in this 
country are those imported by Mr. Jonathan Thorne, Jr., of Duchess 
County, in this State. As spaniels are not expected to point their 
game, they should be broken to range close, never more than twenty 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 631 


or thirty yards away from the gun, and always to ‘‘come to heel” 
or ‘down charge” at the report. 

The dogs to which I have hitherto referred are those used almost 
exclusively for upland shooting, for although setters, or even point- 
ers, if taught, will retrieve from water, yet when one is to follow 


IRISH WATER-SPANIEL ‘‘ SINBAD.” (OWNED BY J. H. WHITMAN, CHICAGO, ILL.) 


duck-shooting to any great extent, whether on western lakes or on 
the waters of Chesapeake Bay or Currituck Sound, it is much better 
to be provided with a dog particularly adapted for the purpose. — In 
fact, | once almost ruined several good setters in California by allow- 
ing them to retrieve constantly from water, the result being that all 
were afflicted with canker of the ear. At the present writing, my 
Gordon, “ Lou,” is displaying symptoms of the same complaint— the 
result, I believe, of unlimited swimming and diving last summer in 
the waters of the Great South Bay.* The pure Irish water-spaniel 
is rarely met with in this country. Mr. J. H. Whitman, of Chicago, 


a portrait of whose “Sinbad” is given, probably has the finest 


5 


* As canker of the ear is a very common disease, always indicated by the dog 
shaking his head and scratching at his ears, I would mention here that it can be easily 
cured by the following lotion :—Goulard’s extract and wine of opium, of each one-half 
ounce; sulphate of zinc, one-half dram; water, seven ounces; mix. The ear should 
first be cleansed thoroughly with soap and warm water, and a little of the lotion injected 
twice a day. 

N. B.—Since the foregoing was written, “ Lou” has been entirely cured by this 
remedy. 


632 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


kennel of them. At the West, where much of the duck and 
goose shooting is done where the mud is deep and the wild rice is 
heavy, a dog of great strength and determination is required to bring 
in, not only the dead, but the many wounded birds which otherwise 
would be lost. The water-spaniel does all this, and withal is as 
docile, obedient, and intelligent as a French poodle. The head 
should be crowned with a well-defined top-knot, coming down in 
a peak on the forehead; the body should be covered with small 
crisp curls; the tail should be round and without feather, and the 
whole dog a dark liver-color. 

The Chesapeake Bay dog, of which there are now three accepted 
types, is a dog of which even more is expected. He must have 
strength to breast the heaviest seas and bring in a goose; he must 
fight his way through broken ice, and if he meets a piece too large 
to scramble over he must dive under it. Several families in Mary- 


oO 
> 


land have had in their possession for many generations what each 
claims to be the genuine Chesapeake Bay dog, and at the late 
bench-show in Baltimore a compromise was made, and a classifica- 
tion agreed upon, by which each of the types is hereafter to be 
recognized. These are to be, first, the otter dog, of a tawny sedge 
in color; with very short hair; second, the curly-haired dog, red- 
brown in color, and third, the straight-haired dog of the same color. 
The dogs at two years old should weigh not less than eighty pounds. 

Now that I have described to the best of my ability, and within 
the space allotted to me, the different varieties of our sporting dogs, 
the reader must decide upon their merits for himself. Nor can I go 
into the subject of training dogs for field-work, for I believe, in the 
first place, that good dog-breakers are born, and not made; and 
secondly, not only would it be taking up too much space, but instruc- 
tions, if they are of any value, are to be found in the works of recog- 
nized and much better authorities. I believe, moreover, that to a great 
extent, those sportsmen who are even capable of properly handling 
their dogs in the field after they are broken, are in the possession 
of a gift, | might almost call it genius, the secrets of which are 
patience and self-control. No one who has made his dogs his con- 
stant companions can have failed to be struck with the almost human 
intelligence they sometimes display, and a man who wishes to con- 
trol his dogs must first control himself. I have known an old, stanch 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 633 


BREAKING YOUNG DOGS. 


dog to be loaned by his owner to some friends for a day’s shooting. 
After working faithfully and finding bird after bird which they failed 
to kill, the old fellow dropped his tail in disgust and started for 
home, abandoning his share of the sport rather than witness their 
want of skill. The most successful men in the field are those who 
possess the greatest command over themselves; not abusing their 
dogs for the slightest fault, although using the whip judiciously ; for 
dog nature is very like human nature,—some will do wrong from 
mere willfulness, and are only to be controlled by a strong hand. 
That dogs, when regularly shot over, enjoy the sport, is beyond 
question, and sometimes the mere putting on of a shooting-coat will 
drive them wild with excitement. And what sight is there more 
beautiful than that of a well-broken dog at work in the field—the 
instinct which teaches the wolf or the fox to hunt for his prey, toned 
down, or rather developed, by education to be subservient to the will 
of man, and accessory to his sport! You approach a fence, and, 
having crossed, call to your dog to do the same; for a dog should 
never, in theory at least, be allowed to enter a field or leave one 
before you. It is in the autumn, and in the woods the frost-painted 


634 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


leaves are carpeting the ground, while in the open the golden stub- 
ble is being burned by the early frosts. Perhaps it is a buckwheat 
or rye field where the quail, as active gleaners, still find enough of 
the scattered grain to afford them subsistence without going to the 
swamps for buds or skunk-cabbage seeds. Here they have been 
feeding in the early morning, and have gone to the hedge or that 
strip of dried grass for their noonday siesta. At the command “ hie 
on,” or “hold up,” your dog starts on a gallop,—up wind if possible, 
—head up, to catch the scent which may be drifting across the stub- 
ble-tops, his stern—as his tail is technically called —whipping his 
sides. He crosses and recrosses the field, and presently comes to 
where the birds have been feeding. In an instant he stops, perhaps 
half turning to where the faint scent still lingers; but only for an 
instant, for the scent is cold; but with head to the ground and stern 
excitedly whipping his flanks, he either ‘‘roads” the birds, or, taking 
another cast, the wind brings him the hot scent of the bevy. Half 
crouching, he advances until his instinct and the strong scent from 
the birds tell him he can go no closer, when he stops, with tail 
extended stiffly, perhaps one fore-foot lifted as though ready for 
another step, with head rigid in the direction of the birds, and a few 
flecks of foam dotting his quivering nostrils. Look at him! Was 
ever a more perfect statue carved? Take your time; he'll stand 
perhaps for hours if the birds do not move. Now walk up to him; 
touch him if you will, and still the iron-like rigidity. Now step for- 
ward. Never let your dog flush the birds if you can help it. As 
you pass him, the bevy rise with that sharp, quick ‘“whir-r-r-r” 
which so thrills the sportsman as frequently to cause him to shoot 
too quick and wildly. Be cool. Select two of the outside birds,— 
never shoot at the bunch,—and, covering them carefully, fire. Your 
dog drops to the ground or the ‘‘down charge” as the birds rise, and 
remains so until you have reloaded and ordered him first to “hold 
up” and then to “seek dead.” Give your dog time. Even if-you 
fancy you have marked the spot where the bird fell to an inch, he 
may be many yards away. The dog knows how to look for him, 
and will cast around until he catches the scent, and will road him 
until the wounded bird stops, when he will point him again. 

I have said that your dog dropped when the birds rose. No young 
dog can be considered properly broken unless he drops ‘to wing” 


Some Amencan Sporting Dogs. 635 


DOWN CHARGE ! 


and “to shot”; that is, when a bird rises, and when the gun is fired, 
and with young dogs the latter at least should always be insisted 
upon. As they grow older and stancher, | should be satisfied if they 
came to heel when I fired. There are times when it is positive 
cruelty to compel a dog to drop to shot, particularly in the case of 
pointers on wet snipe meadows. It is the English custom not to break 
dogs until they are a year old. We begin much earlier, and a puppy 
is generally sent to the breaker at six months. I think much should 
depend upon the disposition of the dog. If possible, you should 
house or yard-break your dogs; that is, teach them to drop or 
“ charge” at command, to come in, to obey the whistle, to stop, and, if 
possible, to retrieve, before sending them to the breaker. Many prefer 
puppies born in the fall, as in the spring they can be broken on 
snipe, and some shooting can be had over them in the fall. .1 believe, 
however, that fall puppies are much more difficult to rear, from the 
fact of their being likely to be exposed to cold and wet; in winter, 
too, they can get no grass, the corrective provided by nature for all 
canine ills, and one which should always be within their reach. 

The puppy should also be accustomed to the report of fire-arms, 


636 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


GROUND PLAN OF KENNEL. 


as nothing is more discouraging to a sportsman than to find himself 
in possession of a “gun-shy” dog. This is to be done by taking 
him to the field, perhaps with an old dog, and by using at first small 
charges of powder, fired only when he is at a little distance, and 
perhaps killing some small birds,—the great point being to associate 
the noise in his mind with some pleasure. Or it is not a bad idea to 
fire a lightly charged gun near the kennel just before feeding ; but 
these extra precautions need only be taken where timidity is antici- 
pated. Gun-shyness is supposed to be hereditary, but I am inclined 
to think that where puppies are handled judiciously at first, and not 
startled by an unexpected report, perhaps directly over them, but 
little trouble is to be apprehended. Too little attention is paid to 
the care and diet of dogs. They are left chained to their kennels 
for days at a time without exercise and without change of bedding, 
until they become afflicted with mange or covered with vermin. 
A simple and efficacious remedy for mange is prepared as follows: 
Take two ounces basilicon ointment, half ounce flour of sulphur, 
and sufficient spirits of turpentine to make of the proper consistency. 
Wash the dog thoroughly with carbolic soap, and rub the ointment 
into the skin. A few drops of Fowler's solution of arsenic is of 


CORDS FoR RAIAWS 
00R. 


—.-—_—- = = — 5 160 == > 


FRONT ELEVATION OF KENNEL. 


Some American Sporting Dogs. 637 


service in extreme cases. Where but one dog is kept, the scraps 
from the table should be ample for him; but where food must be 
prepared, there is nothing better than oat or corn meal thoroughly 
boiled in water, in which some coarse meat—such as a neck of 
beef or shin-bone 


has been cooked almost to shreds, the meat - 
being chopped fine and mixed with the mush. The dogs should 
never be fed more than twice a day. But the great cause of 
death among dogs is distemper, and the more finely and carefully 
they are bred, the more susceptible they appear to be to its effects. 
Dogs of almost any age are liable to be attacked, 
(and if they escape with life, may be left with 
|chorea or St. Vitus’s dance. In fact, in this 


ANNNAAANAAL 


fil 


— —— 


CONCRETE — 


= £00 


SIDE VIEW OF KENNEL. 


respect distemper is not unlike measles, which often leaves a 
patient with some other disorder. Frequent post-mortems have 
revealed the fact that distemper in some of its forms very much 
resembles pneumonia, and, as in that disease, a certain amount of 
stimulation is necessary. The symptoms are, a thick, mattery dis- 
charge from the eyes and nose, with a dry, husky cough and a 
straining, as though a bone were lodged in the throat; a hot, dry 
nose, and general listlessness, with, later, a weakness of the hind- 
quarters. Fits, in puppies particularly, are frequently present, but 
the symptoms vary somewhat, although the above are unmistakable. 
There are many remedies advocated for distemper, but I believe 
there is none more generally successful than that suggested by Dr. 
Webb, which consists of a course of calomel and quinine, com- 
mencing with a dose of the former, varying from ten to twenty 
grains, according to the size of the dog, and followed by doses of 
five to ten grains of quinine daily, reducing the dose as the dog 
improves. When taken promptly in hand, and the dog is kept in a 
warm, dry place, the disease generally yields to this vigorous treat- 
ment. Cleanliness is the great source of health, and when more 


638 Some American Sporting Dogs. 


EDWARD LAVERACK, ESQ., THE OLDEST BREEDER OF SETTERS IN ENGLAND. 


than one dog is kept, a regular kennel and yard should be prepared. 
A capital idea of their arrangement can be had from these plans, 
which are copied from those of Mr. Jesse Starr, Jr., of Camden, N. J. 

Further instruction on the subjects here treated of will be found 
in such exhaustive works as Dinks, Mayhew, and Hutchinson, or 
“Stonehenge,” or “‘Idstone”; or, in America, Mr. Arnold Burges’s 
“American Kennel and Sporting Field.” Mr. Edward Laverack 
the oldest breeder in England, has written a work devoted to the 
discussion of the setter alone, in which are many valuable hints to 
the breeder and breaker. 

No dogs possess greater intelligence or more excellent dis- 
positions than those used by sportsmen, and where careful educa- 
tion has developed them to a high degree, they are fitted in every 
respect to be the trusted and beloved companions of man. 


NOT AMERICAN GROU Sp: 


l 
By CHARLES E. WHITEHEAD. 


HERE is the hill-side climber whose heart has not leaped 
at the burst of the ruffed grouse ? 

Autumn leaves are golden; the woodland carpet is 
sodden, and damp with dew and frost; the dank odors of decay and 
the aromatic balsam bring reveries to the mind; the patch of sunshine 
through the opening glade warms the body; a listless thought of 
some by-gone face is fixing your eye; your hand lingers on the 
polished trunk of the white-birch tree by which you are steadying 
yourself to swing over the lichened bowlder that bars your way, 
when whir, whir, whir-r, whir-r—-r, whir-r—r—r from your very feet 
bursts out the cock-bird. The bright leaves fly in spangles, the 
sharp twigs crackle, and the leafy boughs spatter to his beating 
wings, as, swerving to the right and left, he dashes away through 
bush and open glade, and over the ravine, and out of sight, leaving 
the spectator with a flush on his brow and a prickle in his back, with 
his mouth half open, looking the way he went. No lady’s bird is he. 
His retreat is the roughest hill-side, where rock and ravine make 
walking difficult and noisy, or swamps, where fallen trees and moss 
cover the ground knee-deep, and hemlock and spruce afford covert 
and buds for food. Sometimes in pairs they are found wandering 
away through the open woods in search of insects or beech-nuts ; 
and again they will travel along the edges of grain-fields that adjoin 
swamp-land, to glean the wheat. When snows are deep, they visit 
old orchards and pick the ungleaned apples; and if the winter is 
severe they can live on spruce-buds or laurel-berries,—thus making 
the taste of their winter flesh bitter or even poisonous, 


640 North American Grouse. 


The ruffed grouse lives abundantly from New Brunswick to the 
prairies of the West, from Canada to the Southern States,—keeping 
in the South to the high or mountainous lands. It is the most noble 
and alert of all the grouse family. The shape of its body and the 


pose of its head indicate robustness, both in walking and flying, and 


>?) 
wonderful quickness in observation. Its small crested head turns 


with constant vigilance, and its full brown eye 
/ . \, is expressive of great power of vision, and seems 
/ \ to reflect the landscape immediately after death. 
f Its wings are short and curved, beating the air 

F / / / ‘ YY 


‘it 


/ 


with great rapidity and giving it an exceedingly 
* rapid flight. Once, breakfasting above New- 
burgh, on the Hudson, at a country house 
where heavy plate glass windows extended to 
the floor, we heard a heavy blow on the window. 
Running out, we found a cock grouse lying dead 
on the lawn. A glance at the window revealed 
the cause; the room was dark within and the 
window reflected all the landscape, and the bird 
crossing over to its covert flew into the mirrored 
copse with such speed as to kill it instantly. 

The length of the bird is about eighteen 
inches,—its full weight twenty-two ounces. Its 
color is light brown, mottled with darker brown 
or black. It wears a slight crest, which it 
can elevate at pleasure. Its tail is short and 
‘rounded, with a nearly continuous black bar 


Ss 
Ye 
NX 


crossing it near the tip. Its legs are feathered 
with a hairy feather, and are well proportioned, 


North American Grouse. 641 


so that the bird stands high and runs with speed and endurance. It 
wears a ruff on its neck, made by the elongation of a half dozen 
glossy black feathers on each side of the neck, which it can elevate 
or depress at pleasure, and from which it takes its name of ruffed 
grouse. These feathers, as well as its other exterior feathers, are 
dark brown or chestnut, or ashy gray, varying much with individuals 
in different localities, those in countries farthest north and east being 
the darkest and most ashy. In the western birds, the color is more 
rufous. These differences of color have induced some writers to note 
three varieties of ruffed grouse; but it would seem as if these differ- 
ences of color are produced by local causes, for we often find the same 
bird on the Pacific coast having a marked variety of color. Authors 
have named one variety as the Sabine’s grouse of Oregon, and 
another as the Arctic ruffed grouse of the Arctic regions. In that 
beautiful monograph of the ‘“ Tetraonide,” by Elliott, we find illus- 
trations of both these so called varieties. Without intending to dis- 
pute their existence, a reference to the description of the Arctic 
grouse will show from what slight variations a new variety is named. 
That author specifies the marks that distinguish it as a different 
variety from the ruffed grouse, and mentions as the pvzxczpal mark 
its size, it being one-third smaller; claiming also that the black 
band on the end of the tail is not continuous, but skips the three 
middle feathers. After reading this description, the writer looked 
over a game-bag of ruffed grouse killed in the northern part of the 
State of New York, containing twenty rufous-colored and ashen 
grouse of many shades; in two instances the band was scarcely 
visible in the middle feathers, and in three instances it did .not 
exist. The diminished size in the Arctic region would be an effect 
of nature generally recognizec 

In the breeding season, the cocks select some fallen tree and, 
strutting up and down, beat with their wings, making a muffled drum- 
ming sound that can be heard for half a mile. The beat is at 
irregular intervals, beginning slowly and measuredly, and gradually 
increasing in quickness, until it ends ina roll. If the bird happens 
to find a dry, well-placed log, his tattoo of welcome can be heard a 
mile, and is one of the pleasantest of woodland sounds. It has the 
same accelerated pace, and is about the same duration as the call 
of the raccoon, and is only heard in the day-time, as the raccoon’s 

41 


642 North American Grouse. 


THE DRUMMING-LOG. 


is only heard at night. Usually the same cock continues to use 
the same log, but he will sound his call from any other place as 
well, the noise being produced by the blow of the wing against the 
body. When its mate hears the drumming, she slowly approaches, 
and, coquettishly picking at seeds she does not want, comes within 
sight of the drumming-log. A snail is on the May-apple plant right 
before her; she pecks at it three times before hitting it, and then 
scratches negligently at imaginary seeds. The cock raises his ruff 
till it looks like Queen Elizabeth’s; the yellow skin beneath flushes 
with pride; he spreads his tail like a fan; he thrums his guitar, 
clucks an introductory welcome or two, and launches himself out 
and flies to his bride. If, however, another cock hears the drumming, 
he feels insulted at the sound on what he considers his own domain. 
He flies to the drumming-log and dashes at the brave drummer, 


North American Grouse. 643 


and the one who is inferior in courage and strength yields his place 
to the bolder, and retires discomfited. 

After the two birds have come together, the hen builds a hasty 
nest on the ground with twigs and grasses, laying. in it from ten to 
twelve eggs, of a yellow-brown color, which are hatched in June, the 
young birds attaining their growth by the first 
of October, unless, as it often happens, floods 


| 
L 


APRIL-FOOL. 


or late snows retard the nesting, when the young 
come to maturity proportionately later. 

The habits of the mother-bird when running 
with her young are conspicuous. Her ceaseless activity, 
her boldness in danger, her sagacity in finding food, her 
ability in controlling the dimity little chicks confided to her charge, 
perpetually challenge admiration. With a warning cluck which the 
young understand perfectly, she flies away, and they run under the 
brown and scattered leaves, lying so still and so matched in color 
that no one can detect them, and when hidden they will not move 
unless they are touched. Or if the passer comes suddenly upon 
the brood, the mother’s distressed cluck, her fluttered wings, and 
her tumbling on the ground irresistibly draw you to her. She 
gradually flutters along, uttering lamentable cries, and when you 
are about to place your hand on her back she skates away through 
the forest glade, uttering a note which we can easily translate into 
“ April-fool.” 

This bird is the friend of the country boy. It has many a time 
made him jump as it burst out of ‘the way-side bushes, and bird and 


644 North American Grouse. 


A TWITCH-UP. 


boy perpetually match their wits against each other,—the one in 
trapping and the other in avoiding being trapped. Master Barefoot 
finds a drumming-log, and at once whips out his jack-knife and, 
bending down a neighboring hickory sapling, sets a twitch-up, with 
a slip-noose at the end, made of a string pulled out of one of his 
capacious pockets. The twitch-up being well watched, is sure to 
catch the bird or drive it away. As Barefoot grows older, he learns 
to set running snares of horse-hair or silk in the paths in the woods, 
and he will walk miles to attend them when he is too sick to go 
half a mile to school. At length, he grows to be a young man, 
‘“some farmer, some poacher,” making a precarious living by sell- 
ing game he has trapped or shot in season and out, and killing 
more birds than all the minks, owls, and foxes in the country 
side. 

There is a curious habit in the ruffed grouse of taking to 
the trees when pursued by a small dog, and when a number of 
them flit into one tree, they will sit and be shot at until they are 
all successively killed, providing, always, that the lowest is killed 
first, and the dog keeps up his barking. For this chase a little 
red dog is preferred, and doubtless the birds are accustomed thus 
to save themselves when pursued by foxes, and they see no differ- 
ence in their canine pursuer, and are more in fear of him than of 
the gun, whose character they do not know so well. 


North American Grouse. 645 


ACROSS THE PATH, 


The ruffed grouse partakes of 

ue a {Zi ro” ~ the sturdy nature of the woods he 

ee bsg frequents, He is a real North- 

erner, and gleaned his living with 

the Puritan among the rocks and scaurs of New England. Too proud 

to migrate, he battled with the storms of the ‘‘stern and rock-bound 

coast,” and when winter snows fell heavily, and the searching wind 

penetrated even the tangle of the spruce-swamp, he would find a lee 

on the ground, and suffer himself to be snowed under, and quietly 

wait under his white blanket till the tempest ceased. Sometimes he 

dashes out before the plodding woodman, all covered with snow- 
flakes, leaving his little shelter plainly visible in the drift. 

The true shooting season of this bird begins in the brisk and 
golden autumn. The sportsman following him needs an active step 
and a wondrous quick eye and hand to secure him. No bird that 
flies is oftener missed. He rarely lies to a dog. A careful pointer 
will show signs of game, and commence trailing him, for the scent is 
strong; but he bursts away well ahead of the dog, generally flying 
in a straight line. An experienced sportsman will take the shot, no 
matter how long, and carefully noting the line of flight, will flush 
him again, and again fire at him. After a few salutes of this kind, 

AIA 


646 North American Grouse. 


he seeks tg avoid the exposure by hiding. Then the sportsman, 
following close after his dog, keeping always ready for a shot, may 
see the dog halt sharp, pointing to a thicket of briers and cut brush, 
then recalling the runs which he had made before the previous 
points, will step forward slowly,—slowly,—with his head high in air 
and eyes intent; a pause,—his foot is up for another step, when the 
bird rushes out again, scattering the brush with his quick wings, 
and whirling off the saffron leaves from the white birch. Never 
mind the aim,—the gun comes up to the line of flight, the sharp 
report awakens the echoes of the hills, and the pride of the wood- 
land falls to the ground. Brave old bird, he died in the prime of 
life! No base snare shall choke him; no horned owl or stealthy 
mink shall pick his bones; but, roasted before a hickory fire, he 
will be served hot as the second course to a gentle meal, and 
have his virtues told by hunters who honor his name and worth, 
as they tell stories of the chase, or carol snatches of Thoreau’s 
songs in the autumn night. 


“Shot of the wood from thy ambush low, 
Bolt off the dry leaves flying ; 

With a whirring spring like an Indian bow, 
Thou speedest when the year is dying; 
And thy neat gray form darts whirling past, 

So silent all as thou fliest fast, 
Snapping a leaf from the copses red,— 
Our native bird on the woodland bred. 


“ And thy whirring wings I hear, 

When the colored ice is warming 
The twigs of the forest sere ; 

When the northern wind, a-storming, 
Draws cold as death round the Irish hut, 
That lifts its blue smoke in the railway cut, 
And the hardy chopper sits dreaming at home, 
And thou and [I are alone in the storm.” 


The spruce grouse, or Canada grouse, is smaller than the ruffed 
grouse, its length being about sixteen inches, and its full weight 
sixteen ounces. Its range seems to be north of the latitude of the 
Mohawk River, in the State of New York, and extending through 
all of Canada and to Baffin’s Bay. 


North American Grouse. 649 


The color of the cock is dark brown or gray interspersed with 
black, each feather having three cross-bars of a still darker gray. 
On its breast is a large angular or crescent patch of black, the 
point of the angle coming up the neck. Its throat is black directly 
under the bill, and is mottled further down by little white feathers, 
and still larger white feathers patch its breast.* Its legs are 
feathered, but its toes are bare, as are all of this genus. The hen 
is quieter in color, mottled all over in red and brown. It has the 
habit of its race of making a drumming noise with its wings, but 
seems to do it by repeated blows on its own body, and sometimes 
makes this noise when in the air. Some authors note another bird, 
called Franklin grouse, which is a variety of this one. The tail 
feathers being carried out wide to the ends, and the upper and under 
tail coverts being tipped with white. These variations, when unac- 
companied by any difference of structure or habits, seem to be of no 
importance to the ordinary reader or to the sportsman. 

The spruce grouse makes its nest on the ground, generally shel- 
tered by some low evergreen bush, and lays fifteen to twenty buff 
or fawn-colored eggs, spotted with brown. Often, when one is fish- 
ing from a canoe in some of the narrow brooks in Maine or Canada, 
a brood of these birds will be seen threading their way among the 
bushes or, if the weather is hot, coming to the water to drink, so 
gentle in their remoteness from man that they scarcely notice the 
passing boat. At times like these, they make use of a little piping 
cluck that is most gentle and familiar, by which the old bird calls the 
young ones of the flock to her whenever she finds any attractive 
food in the rotten wood or among the fallen mast. Again, they may 
be seen among the upper branches of the tallest spruce, picking the 
winter buds, and at their great elevation looking as small as snow- 
birds. When pursued, they take quickly to the trees, and seem to 
feel secure in their elevation, and are then easily shot. In the coldest 
winter, when the caribou hunter is making his camp in the evening 
forest, when the deep snow creaks under his snow-shoe, and the 
thermometer sinks to thirty degrees below zero in the still air, some 


* All the male birds of this species which I have shot during the latter part of 
September, in the woods of north-western Maine, had around the eye a characteristic 
broad oval band of bare flesh of a bright deep orange-color. In the females this col- 
ored band is narrower, and borders only the upper half of the eye. — Eptror. 


650 North American Grouse. 


MAKING THEMSELVES AT HOME, 


of these graceful birds will come running over the snow, familiar in 
the desolation, and contented and secure in their winter home, prov- 
ing how apt for their position in life God’s creatures are everywhere 
made. Once, returning to our log hut after an absence of several 
days on an exploring tour, we peered through the opening that was 
left for the window, and saw a brood of these glossy birds pecking 
about the floor and foraging on the remains of our feast. They 
crept into the empty flour-barrel, and pried into the tin meat-cans, 
and one old cock flitted upon the table and perched on the edge of 
a tin pan. His weight upset the dish, which clattered upon the floor, 
when the gay foragers, scared by the din, whirled out of the open 
door like “a swarm of golden bees,” taking refuge in the neighbor- 
ing hemlocks. They were not disturbed by us, for such gentle 
spirits bring good luck to the hunter’s camp. Like the little gray 
wood-mouse that comes out of the logs and gathers the evening 
crumbs, they lend a certain domestic charm to the lonely hut that 
makes the solitary woodsman feel he is not alone. 

The pinnated grouse, or prairie-fowl, is in numbers and use the 
most conspicuous of the American grouse. Its range is over all the 
open prairie-land of the North American continent, extending even 


North American Grouse. 651 


to the Pacific, although the change of the climate there has produced 
some changes of plumage, which cause its identity to be doubted. It 
is a larger bird than the ruffed grouse, its flesh being dark, while 
that is of a white or pink color. Its plumage is light brown, nearly 
uniformly barred on the breast, and spotted on the back with a 
darker brown. Formerly it existed on the plains of Long Island, 
New Jersey, and Maryland, but ceaseless hunting has destroyed it in 
all States east of Indiana. 

It makes a nest of grass in the open prairie, laying ten or twelve 
eggs of a light color, spotted with irregular brown spots, and hatches 
in June; and generally the young are seven-eighths grown by the 
fifteenth of August, when the laws of most of the Western States 
permit the shooting of them. In Illinois, Iowa, and Wisconsin it 
is not unusual for a sportsman to kill sixty in a day, at the opening 
of the season. In winter, when the snows compel them to come near 
the woods and the wheat-stacks for food, they are trapped in great 
numbers, packed in barrels, and sent to the cities of the Eastern 
States, and even to London. It is not unusual for shippers to send 
a hundred barrels of this game in a single consignment to New-York. 
It is this wholesale trapping and exportation which is exterminating 
the species. When the bird is young, it remains in its original covey, 
and when disturbed, scatters in the tall prairie-grass, and can then 
be flushed over the dog, one at a time, so that the sportsman is thus 
often able to secure the whole covey. Later, several coveys unite in 
a pack, and by frosty weather several small packs unite, forming a 
pack of fifty to a hundred birds. Then they keep on the wide range 
of the open prairie, and become wary and watchful, and cannot be 
approached. The hunter must be content to take an occasional 
long shot as the pack is flying over him from one point to another. 
In these flights the fowl sometimes continue in the air ten miles, and 


FLUSHING A COVEY OF PINNATED GROUSE, 


652 North American Grouse. 


THE FIFTEENTH OF AUGUST ON THE PRAIRIE, 


distance all pursuit. Still, there are now and then some late autumn 
days when the warm sunshine recalls the summer, and when, in the 
sheltered sloughs of the prairie, protected by low hills and rank 
grass, a covey will lie close, too indolent to fly away, and will rouse 
themselves one by one before the pointer. These are halcyon 
moments. The sportsman’s nerves, braced by weeks of autumn 
shooting, are strong and steady, and every grouse that springs into 
the air falls with a thud to the ground, after the ringing shot. 
Every bird is a full-grown one, and the gillie-boy staggers under his 
load. 

The true manner of shooting prairie-fowl is to drive over the 
prairie in a light wagon, letting the dogs range far and wide on 
either side. A well trained dog will range at times a half mile 
from the wagon, his bright colors and rapid motion rendering him 
conspicuous on the prairie. When he scents the birds he will come 
to a point so suddenly that at times his inertia, when attempting 
to halt, will swing him half around. He stands as if he saw-a 
ghost. The wagon drives near to him, the other dogs coming up 
and backing him. The sportsmen then alight and take their shots. 
Rarely the whole covey is flushed together, and frequently the old 
birds lie until the last, and while the sportsman is loading his gun 


North American Grouse. 653 


will dash away, uttering their quick repeated cry of “Cluk-cluk-cluk- 
cluk,” and looking back over their wings at the sportsman, who 
watches their flight and marks them down half a mile away. As 
one goes to retrieve the dead birds still another and another will 
rise, and it is only until one has been carefully over the field that 
he feels secure that all the birds are up. The driver in the mean- 
time, from his wagon, has marked the several birds down. The 
game that is secured is placed in the wagon, and with renewed 
hearts the sportsmen push on after the fugitives. 

A pointer dog is considered the best dog for this pursuit, as 
his endurance and speed are great and he stands the heat without 
needing water better than setters. And no one who has not tramped 
all day with game through the prairie-grass can appreciate the 
relief it is to have the wagon always at hand to carry the game and 
luncheon and also, at times, the weary sportsman. 

Often prairie-fowl meet their fate by coming in contact with the 
telegraph wires, and the trackmen on the railroads constantly find 
them with broken necks lying along the track. 

As the coyote or prairie-wolf has disappeared, prairie-fowl have 
greatly increased in numbers. This restless and hungry marauder 
destroys innumerable nests and sitting birds. The writer was once 
watching a coyote from behind a prairie-knoll and saw him creep to 
windward cautiously and then jump on some prey. On going to 
the spot the wolf fled, leaving the feathers of a prairie-hen and her 
broken eggs to mark his wastefulness. 

If the public would enforce the laws against trapping the birds in 
winter, they would greatly increase. But it requires the extinction 
of a valuable bird to teach the average American the importance of 


THE COYOTE HUNTING. 


654 North American Grouse. 


its preservation. The trapper and dealer care nothing for the sport. 
They look only at the present money profit and leave future gener- 
ations to take care of themselves. The true sportsman shoots only 
as much as he can use, and takes a pride in the existence and security 
and abundance of the bird he admires. | 

The other great source of destruction to the prairie-fowl arises 
from a habit of the Western farmers burning most of the prairie land 
in the autumn, and reserving smal] patches to burn in the spring, so 
that fall grazing will grow on the spring burnings. All the grouse 
in a county finding the great expanse of the prairie burnt over will 
nest in these patches of brown unburnt grass. The farmer then 
burns this grass in June, destroying every nest therein. No persua- 
sion can induce him to forego this habit, as the fall grass is of more 
pleasure to him than the birds. The only remedy is for those inter- 
ested in the race of birds to go over the country late in the fall and 
burn off all these remaining patches, thus forcing the grouse to nest 
on the burned prairie. 

The pinnated grouse has the power of inflating the two yellow 
sacks which he carries on the sides of his neck, and during the mat- 
ing season the cocks are often seen strutting and swelling in mimic 
grandeur, with expanded wings and tail, and making a thrumming 
noise with their wings, striving to please by their grandiose ways. 
At these times they are pugnacious, and two cocks never meet with- 
out a battle. They flit up in the air several feet striking at each 
other with wings and feet until one yields the place of honor to the 
other and departs—a disappointed bird, to lead the life of a 
celibate. . 

One autumn day, watching for ducks while ensconced on a musk- 
rat house in the great Mendocio marsh, which extends back many 
miles from the Mississippi River opposite Clinton, I noticed some 
objects moving on the summit of a knoll. By careful watching I 
discovered they were prairie-fowl, and, moved by curiosity, carefully 
approached them. As I drew near I discovered fifteen prairie-fowl 
apparently dancing a minuet. They were scattered about on the 
short turf, twenty yards apart, nodding their heads at one another, 
and presently two would run out and perform the figure which in a 
country dance is known as “cross over and back to places,” all the 
while uttering a soft note of ‘‘coo—cooe”—the last syllable being 


North American Grouse. 655 


A PRAIRIE MINUET. 


much elongated. Then would follow “salute your partners” and 
“dos a dos.” This scene of merriment was sustained for half an 
hour and until a shot from a neighboring gun caused the birds to 
run into the tall cover of the reeds. The bright sunshine of autumn 
and the conspicuous group of native birds impressed the scene vividly 
on the spectator’s mind. A neighboring farmer to whom the circum- 
stance was mentioned said: 

“Yes, them same birds skye around there mostly every day.” 

The other varieties of prairie grouse indulge in the same kind of 
amusement. 


The pin-tail, or sharp-tail, grouse is a close connection of the 
prairie-fowl, but without the gular sac; and, like that bird, it inhabits 
the open prairie land, nesting in the same manner, feeding on the 
same food, and often found associating with him. Its size is the 
same, but its color much lighter, and instead of the dark-brown bars 
on its breast, it carries little spots of a V shape, of a light, ashy 
brown. Its name is derived from the two middle feathers in its tail 
extending beyond the others, thus forming a long, pointed tail. 

It is claimed that there are two varieties of the sharp-tail grouse 
—one in the Arctic north, and one in the central territories of the 


656 North American Grouse. 


continent, each with a slight variation,—the northern one having a 
black instead of a brown-colored back. If this is so, the writer has 
never seen the Arctic variety. The beautifully marked one with 
which we are familiar is common in Kansas, Nebraska, and Dakota; 
and on the Platte River we have seen it rise, with its whirring flight 
and lighter and ashier hue, from among a pack of pinnated grouse. 
Its flesh is lighter in color than that of the prairie-fowl, and more 
delicate in flavor. 

There is a curious habit of this bird; but whether connected with 
its mating instincts, or only with its love for social amusement, it is 
difficult to answer. It has a little ball-room all of its own, and, like 
that of the country girls of Italy, it is under the open sky. A circle 
of ground on the prairie is adopted, and by beating of wings and 
tramping it is cleared of grass for twenty feet around; and there, 
morning and evening, the party assembles and pirouettes and court- 
esies as in the olden time. By twos and fours they advance, and 
bow. their heads, and drop their wings; then recede and advance 
again, and turn on their toes, swelling their feathers and clucking 
with gentle hilarity. Many cocks join in the dance, but there is no 
attempt at unseemly battle. It is gentleness all, and the hall is sur- 
rounded by rustling grass and golden asters. The hunters call such 
a spot, as they pass it, ‘chickens’ stamping-ground.” We have 
already noted the same habit in the prairie-fowl. The only differ- 
ence between the two birds in this amusement seems to be that the 
prairie-fowl runs over a larger area of ground, usually selecting some 
bare knoll covered with scant, short grass. 

The sharp-tail grouse is feathered not only to the toes, but to 
the first joint of the toes, as is the Rocky Mountain grouse; while 
the ruffed grouse is slightly feathered to the toes, and the pinnated 
grouse is scarcely feathered to the toes. The true ptarmigan wears 
abundant feathers down to his toe-nails. 


As the miner rides over the bare plains that form the approaches 
to the Rocky Mountains, with the vivid sunshine reflected from bar- 
ren earth and red hills, with the glare of noon blinking the eye, and 
the dust of the dry sage-bush, pulverized by the horse’s tread, smart- 
ing the nostril, there suddenly flits out from the bush a large bird, 
looking at first glance like a bustard. It stands as high as a turkey- 


North American Grouse. 657 


THE GILLIE BOY. 


hen, and after a short flight will light on the stony ground, and turn 
to watch the passer-by. This is the Cock-of-the-plains, or Sage- 
hen. Some learned folks have given it a curious Latin title; but as 
most sportsmen prefer shooting to studying Latin, they will best 
recognize the homely name the bird is known by in its own country. 
The color is a light ashy gray, marked by the overlapping feathers 
of a darker gray. It is the largest of the American grouse, being 
thirty inches in length, and is distinguishable in plumage by its 
pheasant-shaped tail of long, pointed feathers. These feathers are 
spiny and hard in texture, having the appearance of being worn off, 
and leaving the guill part projecting. This is noticeably so with the 
tail, the quill of the feather extending beyond the web. If the 
stranger follows the bird after lighting for the first time, it rises 
again and takes a free flight beyond some sheltering knoll. If it is 


42 


658 North American Grouse. 


not pursued, it squats upon the ground or under some bush until the 
danger is past, its predominating color corresponding so much with 
the ground that it often escapes notice. When walking, it has a slow 
and hesitating march. Its location is over the whole of the great 
plains lying east of the Rocky Mountains, wherever the sage-bush 
or artemisia grows. This is its frequent food, and it gives a pun- 
gency to its white flesh which renders it distasteful even to the 
hungry trapper. It has the saffron-colored side-pouches on the neck, 
similar to the ruffed grouse, and its habits of swelling these glands 
and strutting and thrumming with its wings are similar to those 
of the prairie-hen. It builds its nest on the ground of the desert, 
giving but little care to its preparation, and lays from twelve to six- 
teen eggs, dark brown in color, and spotted with irregular chocolate 
spots, more abundant at the larger than the smaller end. How 
its nest ever escapes the ravages of the coyote, that jackal of 
the plains, is a wonder. If it were not for the coyote, the number 
of this grouse would be ten times what it is now. Its flight is. 
that of all its family,—a succession of quick short beats, which at 
rising makes the rushing sound that so bothers the nervous sports- 
man, and then a long sail with extended wings, to be followed again 
by the five or six short beats of the wing. As it rises, it gives forth 
its note of ‘‘Cluck-cluck-cluck !” repeated very rapidly, like the com- 
mon hen. No disappointment is greater to the inexperienced and 
hungry hunter than to bring down one of these noble birds and, 
after spending an hour in its cooking, to find that it tastes like tansy 
bitters, with the bitters left out. We once had a “poetical cuss,” as 
the teamsters called him, in a hunting party in Wyoming Territory. 
He quoted with great emphasis, on first meeting this bird, Hogg’s 
lines: 
“ Bird of the wilderness, 

Blithesome and cumberless, 

Gay be thy matin o’er moorland and lea! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest be thy dwelling-place,— 

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!” 


We had sage-hen for supper that night. The next morning, when 
one rose before his horse while on the march, he was heard to call 
out: 


North American Grouse. 659 


GROUSE ON NEST. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH FROM LIFE.) 


“Git out, you quinine brute! You're only fit for a prescrip- 
tion !” 

Yet, for all his astringency, we love to see the sage-hen on the sul- 
try march, bursting out from the bracken, starting the jackass-rabbit 
from its form, and awakening the landscape with his free flight. 


The dusky grouse is found in the Rocky Mountains and the 
various spurs of highlands that are connected therewith. 

It is a marvelously graceful bird, often quite black, or blue-black, 
and flecked here and there with little pencilings of white feathers, 
looking as though crystals of new snow had fallen upon it. These 
seem to be the tips of white feathers just coming to the surface of 
the black. Sometimes the bird is dusky, or of a dark slate color, 
marked with white, and always bearing that distinguishing mark of 
the grouse family,—the bright-colored streak over the eye,—which, 
in this bird, is scarlet. Its tail is rounded, and ornamented with the 
band of a darker hue that most of the grouse family possess. It has 
the gular sac on the side of the neck, and its cry in the spring-time 
is like the blowing several times suddenly into an empty bottle. 


660 North American Grouse. 


The hunter pursuing game over the ridges of the Rocky Mount- 
ains and among the dead timber that the Indians kill by their 
annual fires, finds this bird flitting out of the young shoots and 
sitting on the low branches of the neighboring trees. Its little head 
turns from side to side as it examines the stranger,—a movement 
accompanied by the nod of the pigeon, rendering it very difficult to 
shoot off its head with a pistol, though sometimes it allows several 
shots to be taken before flying. 

Its proper colors, its most graceful shape, and its apparent tame- 
ness rendered it exceedingly attractive. Its flesh is constantly in 
camp, and every hunter, as he comes in at night, will have one or 
two slung to his saddle, as its white flesh is greatly preferred to the 
continued diet of elk’s meat and venison. It has the peculiarity 
noted in that of the black game of Scotland, of having two colors of 
flesh on its breast, one being darker than the other. The habit it 
has of flitting to the lower branches of the trees on the slightest 
noise being heard is explained by the presence of the ever-prowling 
coyote. 

This bird inhabits all the mountain-lands to the Pacific Ocean. 
In the Cascade Mountains they are abundant, under the name of 
the blue grouse, and frequent the heavy pine or redwood timber. 
Another variety is spoken of as the Richardson grouse, varying 
only in a tail-marking. In the fall of the year, the blue grouse 
leaves the lower strata of vegetation, where it is liable to be buried 
in the snows, and where it has to dispute its occupancy with many 
stronger neighbors, and_ betakes itself to the upper plane of the 
pine-tree tops. There, two hundred feet or more from ground, 
it finds ample shelter in the dense, perpetual verdure, and unlimited 
supply of buds for food, and safety even from the eyes of man. No 
retreat could be so absolutely secure,— nothing but the lightning 
and the tempest can reach it; and its morning crow heralds the 
day while yet the trunk of the tree and the humbler birds that 
live near it are wrapped in darkness. When winter is passed, and 
little sprouts come forth out of the ground, the grouse descends 
to its old resorts and builds its nest, and shuffles in the sandy 
bank as it did the summer before. This is a true bird of the 
mountain, and has the resinous odor of the woods in its flesh. It 
reminds one of its noble congener of Scotland,— the black cock,— 


North American Grouse. 661 


and of all his wild ways and glossy plumage, and the long days 
on the heather, and of the moorlands at Dumfries, and of the old 
song : 
“And if up a bonnie black cock should spring, 
To whustle him down wi’ a slug in his wing, 
And strap him on to my lunsie string, 
Right seldom would I fail.” 


May his mountain fastnesses protect him from extermination for 
future ages, so that other explorers may be charmed as we have 
been, amid sterility, weariness, and hunger, by his beauty of form 
and delicacy of flesh ! 

We have thus told our tale of the North American grouse. The 
distinctive features of the genus are the bare and bright-colored 
patch over the eye, a short, curved bill, with the nostril covered with 
feathers, and a hairy leg, with bare toes. Our story is not a book- 
story, or a compilation,—it is out of the head, it may be somewhat 
out of the heart. It does not claim to be learned, and its writer will 
not dispute about a feather; but all of the birds named are old friends, 
and he dare not caricature them. 

There is another genus of this same 7etrvaonid@ family,—the 
genus Lagopus, or hair-foot. These have the toes, as well as the 
legs, covered with feathers. This genus includes, in North America, 
the ptarmigan, the white-tail ptarmigan, and an Arctic ptarmigan 
called the rock ptarmigan. Their habitat seems to be the whole 
Arctic zone. They form the chief delicacy of the Arctic explorer, and 
hang plentifully in the larders of the posts of the Hudson's Bay 
Fur Company. When the winter is severe, they come down into the 
Canadas; and one winter a hunting friend on the Saguenay — good 
luck to him!—sent us a barrelful. Such friends are above all price. 

The white ptarmigan is all white, save the outer feather on each 
side of the tail, which outer feather is black. The white-tailed ptar- 
migan is as immaculate as snow, including all the tail-feathers. The 


remarkable feature of these birds is that they change the colors of 

their dress to suit the varying year, as does a fashionable lady, only 

the birds vary the style by dressing white in winter and brown in 

summer. This is one of those prudent plans of Dame Nature to 

preserve a race. On the spotless plains of winter, a brown bird 

would be a conspicuous object to every fox and snowy owl; so he is 
A2A 


662 North American Grouse. 


draped in snowy white, and squats unnoticed on the drift. In the 
summer foliage his whiteness would allure each passing hawk, but 
the brown, mottled color of his summer dress matches well the 
bracken and the lichen, and he thus escapes observation. This same 
care Nature bestows on the snow-bird and the great northern hare, 
both of which frequent the snowy plains. 

But a summer evening is not long enough to write the story of 
their lives. To obtain a technical knowledge of the varieties of 
grouse or ptarmigan, one may study Wilson, or Audubon, or that 
comprehensive work on ornithology, entitled ‘‘ North American Birds, 
by Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway.” 

To appreciate the beauty and learn the ways and manners of the 
birds of which we are writing, one must love them, and with Agassiz, 
“wander away and away with Nature, the dear old nurse, who sang 
to him night and day the rhymes of the universe.” One must watch 
these birds in their own homes—among the roughness of primeval 
nature and amid the aroma of the balsam and the keen air of the 
frosty October—hear them beat their muffled drums and challenge 
all comers to their tournaments; and it’s a dull, cold heart that will 
not throb in unison with their defiance, and love the hill-side the 
better for their music. 


BOB WHITE, THE GAME BIRD OF AMERICA. 


By ALFRED M. MAYER. 


F all the game birds of America, none is so endeared to the 
lover of country life or better appreciated by the sportsman 
than little Bob White. He may be found from southern 

Maine and Canada to the Gulf, and from the Atlantic to the high 
central plains, and he is known by various names. In the North 
and East, he is called Quail; in the South and West, he is Part- 
ridge; while everywhere he is known as Bob White. Let us 
- then call him as he calls himself, and we will not be berated for our 
ignorance of natural history. In fact, he is neither quail nor part- 
ridge; but to our mind he seems more akin to the latter than to the 
former of his European cousins. The quail of Europe is a smaller 
and more dumpy bird than our little friend. His flesh is dark and 
loaded with fat. His plumage is dull and his aspect plebeian. He 
does not form into coveys, but flocks at the periods of his migra- 
tions, when he flies at night, and in the company of countless num- 
bers, during the month of April crosses the Mediterranean to the 
European shores and islands, returning to Africa in the autumn.* 


* “The quails assemble at the approach of autumn, to cross the Black Sea over to 
the southern coast. The order of this emigration is invariable. Toward the end of 
August the quails, in a body, choose one of those fine days when the wind, blowing 
from the north at sunset, promises them a fine night; they take their departure about 
seven in the evening, and finish a journey of fifty leagues by break of day,—a wonder- 
ful distance for a short-winged bird, and one that is generally fat and sluggish of flight. 

“Such prodigious quantities have appeared on the western coasts of the kingdom 
of Naples, in the vicinity of Nettuno, that ove hundred thousand have in one day been 
taken within the space of four or five miles.” —Daniel’s “Rural Sports.” 


664 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


He is a polygamous, pugnacious, selfish little Arab, and lacks en- 
tirely that gallant bearing and affectionate nature which are marked 
characteristics of the American bird. A wretched husband, he 
abandons his wives and young to their fate at the waning of the 
honeymoon; and his selfish manners are inherited by his chicks, 
who ‘‘are hardly full grown when they separate, or, if kept together, 
fight obstinately, and their quarrels are terminated only by their 
mutual destruction.” It belies both the appearance and character 
of Bob White to call him after such a mean-looking, disreputable 
bird as the European quail. 

The common European gray partridge differs somewhat in form 
from our bird, which in this particular resembles more closely the 
red-legged partridge of Europe; but what is said of the habits of 
Bob White applies equally well to the European partridge. The 
latter weighs twice as much as Bob White, but he has not Bob’s 
sturdy, rapid, and often long-continued flight. Like our bird, his 
flesh is white; he forms into coveys; is monogamous, and keeps 
with his wife and brood till the following spring. He is not migra- 
tory or nocturnal in his habits. His wings are similar in form to 
those of our bird, having the third quill-feather the longest, which is 
a characteristic of the partridges, and distinguishes them from the 
quails, which have the first quill-feather the longest. 

It is true that Bob White is sometimes partly migratory in his 
habits. It is said that he has ‘“‘a running season” in October, when, 
joining a pack, he leaves the region of his birth and travels on foot 
in a southerly and easterly direction till he reaches the borders of 
streams and bays, where he may remain till November, when he 
returns to his former haunts. During his travels it would be useless 
to hunt him, for he then runs with great rapidity before the dog, and 
will not take wing. 

The European partridge and Bob White differ in their call-notes 
and in their longevity. Daniel, in his superb “ Rural Sports,” Lon- 
don, 1812, states: “It is said, the partridge, if unmolested, lives 
from fifteen to seventeen years; others dispute this computation, and 
maintain that they live seven years, and give over laying in the 
sixth, and are in full vigor when two years old.” Dr. Elisha T. 
Lewis, in his “American Sportsman,” Philadelphia, 1857, says that 
the average duration of Bob White’s life is three to five years; but 


EUROPEAN GRAY PARTRIDGES (PERDIX CINEREA), MALE AND FEMALE. 


DRAWN BY JAMES C. BEARD. 


i, 
} 
4 


, ae 


Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 667 


‘BOB WHITE!” 


neither of these authors states how these facts were ascertained. 
Our distinguished ornithologist, Dr. Coues, classes Bob White 
among the partridges, and says: 


“ Our partridges [viz., Bob White, the Mountain, Valley, and Massena quails, ete. | 
may be distinguished among American Ga//ine by the foregoing characters, but not 
from those of the Old World; and it is highly improbable that, as a group, they are 
separable from all the forms of the latter by any decided pecuharities. I find that the 
principal supposed character, namely, a toothing of the under mandible, is very faintly 
indicated in some forms, and entirely wanting in others. Pending final issue, however, 
it is expedient to recognize the group, so strictly limited geographically, if not other- 
wise. * * * In habits, they agree more or less completely with the well-known Bob 
White: head completely feathered, and usually crested, the crest frequently assuming 
aremarkable shape; nasal fosse not filled with feathers, the nostrils covered with a 
naked scale, tarsi and toes naked, the latter scarcely or not fringed.” 


If, however, many of our friends should persist—as they certainly 
will—in calling Bob White a quail, then they should call a brood of 
these birds a bevy ; while a covey should designate a brood, if they 
call him a Virginia partridge. The plumage differs so much with 
latitude that some naturalists have made out three species—the 


668 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


WHITE BOB WHITE. (FROM THE COLLECTION OF ALFRED M. MAYER.) 


Ortyx Virginianus, the O. Floridanus, and the O. Texanus. The 
male of the /lorzdanus is about the size of the female ]7rgznzanus. 
Its bill is longer and jet black; its colors are darker and its black 
markings are heavier. The Zevanus is of the size of the Florz- 
danus ; the colors are paler, the prevailing shade being rather gray 
than brown; upper part much variegated with tawny. Sometimes 
Bob White dons a coat which is nearly white. One of these color- 
less birds is shown in the above engraving. He was shot in the 
month of November, by Mr. Charles Hallock, near Berlin, in 
Worcester County, Maryland. 

If, after a day of successful shooting over a considerable area, the 
sportsman will count the number of cock and hen birds which have 
fallen to his aim, he will find the former always outnumbering the 
latter. The exact ratio I do not know. I have but once separated 


Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 669 


them ; then, in a bag of forty, I found twenty-four cocks to sixteen 
hens. According to the European naturalist, Ray, the European 
partridge hatches one-third more males than females. 

The average weight of Bob White varies considerably with the 
nature of his feeding-ground, the weather preceding the time when 
he is shot, and the age of the bird. Probably six and three-quarter 
ounces is a fair average weight. In Southern Maryland, | have shot 
a few cock-birds which weighed eight ounces and one-quarter, and 
one even as high in weight as eight ounces and three-quarters. 
Fifty birds shot in the middle of North Carolina, last December, 
averaged seven ounces. Those birds were cocks and hens, old and 
young, just as they came to bag in the field. Mr. Frank Schley 
says: “I have often killed a bag of birds along the Monocacy and 
Potomac bottoms in Maryland, in the month of December, that 
would average eight ounces.” Dr. Lewis, in his “American Sports- 
man,” gives a record of ten braces of birds shot in the neighborhood 
of Mount Holly, New Jersey, that averaged eight ounces. 

While the woodcock and Wilson’s snipe are fated to disappear as 
civilization robs them of their restricted feeding-grounds, Bob White, 
if protected by the enforcement of judicious game laws, will thrive in 
the midst of cultivated lands, and will continue to test the gamecraft 
and marksmanship of future generations. He is destined to remain 
the game bird of America, and he is worthy of it; for there is none 
more impetuous in his flight, none that has such extended range in 
his feeding-grounds and coverts, none that demands of the gunner 
more knowledge of his habits in order to find him, and none that 
tests so well the training of a dog and the eye and nerve of the 
sportsman. We should be thankful that he, with the black bass, will 
be spared in the relentless action of that artificial selection which is 
slowly but surely taking from us the woodcock, the snipe, the grouse, 
and the wild trout. 

Unlike the grouse and the European quail, our little American 
is a faithful husband and devoted father. To find Bob in Mormon 
practices is rare. Should he, however, discover that his gallant 
bearing and spruce attire have made him doubly beloved, he will 
show impartial devotion to his two spouses. From a_ fence-rail 
overhead, with his two wives on their nests, not two feet 
apart, he will gladden both their little hearts with his love-song. 


670 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


But this gallant and affectionate bird is naturally a monogamist. 
He selects his mate and makes his courtship in the spring, soon 
after the snow and frost have gone, when the willows have turned 
yellow, while the frogs are piping in the marsh’ and the Wilson’s 
snipe is drumming above the meadows. If the wintry storm should 
come back, the mates will re-assemble in a covey, and keep each 
other warm o’ nights, and huddle on the sunny slopes during the day. 

In the month of May they build their simple nest, formed of 
a slight depression in the ground, lined with dried leaves and soft 
grasses. This nest may be found under a tussock of grass, beneath 
a small bush, in the brier-grown corner of a worm-fence, at the foot 


of an old stump, alongside a log, or often in the open fields of wheat 


g, 
or clover. The nest is sometimes closed above with stubble mingled 
with the grass tussock or briers, and provided with a side entrance ; 
but the nest is as often found open above as closed. 

In this nest the hen-bird lays from one dozen to two dozen eggs 
of a pure, brilliant white. While the hen is laying, and during her 
time of nesting, the cock is the happiest of husbands. Filled with 
joy and pride, he sits on the low bough of a neighboring tree, or 
perches on the fence-rail quite near his spouse, whom he never 
wearies of telling that he is ‘“ Bob White— your Bob White,” in 
such a brilliant, happy voice that the farmer 
stops his work and the children leave their 
play to listen to him, and they are happier 
for having heard him. 

In from three to four weeks the little 
downy young leave the egg, and even with 
pieces of egg-shell yet sticking on their backs 
they go off with their parents to be taught to 


BOB WHITE EGG (FULL SIZE). 
(FROM THE coLtection search for food. They feed on the seeds of 
OF A. B. BAILEY.) 


various grasses, weeds, and cereals, and on 

berries; and they return a hundred-fold the bounty of their landlord, 
by destroying for his benefit not only countless numbers of destructive 
insects, but quantities of weed-seed, one to two gills of which the 
adult birds can stow away in their little crops during a day’s feeding. 
If rain should come on, or the cold wind blow, the mother calls 
her younglings under her wings, where they nestle safe from the 
chilling storm. When night comes on, she and her spouse take their 


, 


Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 671 


CALIFORNIA VALLEY PARTRIDGE OR QUAIL. (LOPHORTYX CALIFORNICUS.) 


little ones to some place removed from the thicket, where prowl the 
fox and the weasel. Soon after being hatched, the young, in run- 
ning, assist themselves with their tiny wings, and when two weeks 
old they take wing with a flutter that is very amusing to those 
familiar with the startling whir of the old birds. When too large to 
gather under the mother, they take their flight at night-fall from the 
stubble or grain-field where they have been feeding, and thus, break- 
ing the scent, drop down in a compact cloud into some open space 
under a bush or tussock, and cozily huddling up to one another, form 
a little circle with their heads outward. Thus nestled, they see on 
all sides, and can spring at a moment from their bed to evade any 
foe that may steal on them in the night or at the early dawn. If the 


672 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


ground be covered with snow or hoar frost, or the weather be wet 
or blustering, they may remain huddled together all day, or may not 
venture to feed till late in the forenoon. But if they are greeted 
with the sunrise and good weather, they cheep a good-morning to 
one another in soft, cheerful voices, and go at once to their feeding- 
grounds, where they regale themselves on the wheat of the stubbles, 
the buckwheat, the seeds of grasses, and the rag-weed, and on the 
berries of the haw, the gum, and the chicken-grape. About ten or 
eleven o'clock they retire to the sunny side of a covert, and they do 
not venture forth again till three or four in the afternoon, when they 
again seek their food till sundown and bed-time. 

In October and November, the sportsman often ‘“‘ springs” coveys 
containing birds too small to be shot; sometimes half the covey will 
be in this condition, the other half full-grown birds. This fact may 
be accounted for thus: The eggs and the young are often destroyed 
by the wet and cold of the early summer, or by beasts and birds of. 
prey. If this calamity should overtake them, the hen again goes to 
laying, and this second brood is retarded by the time lost between 
the first and second nestings. When birds of two sizes are found in 
the same covey, it seems to show that the parents have raised two 
broods; and this, I think, happens oftener to the south than to the 
north of the James River,—the summer of our middle and northern 
States being generally too short for the raising of two broods. 
Baird says: ‘‘They have two broods in a season, the second in 
August”; while Audubon states that “in Texas, the Floridas, and 
as far eastward as the neighborhood of Charleston, in South Carolina, 
it breeds twice in the year, first in May, and again in September.” 

The cock-bird shares with the hen the duties and restraints of 
incubation. If his spouse should desire another brood, he will take 
charge of the half-grown young while she makes her second nest- 
ing. When the second brood appears, it runs with the first, and 
they form together one happy family, and remain with their parents 
till the following spring, in the pairing season, when the old family 
ties are severed. 

The devotion of the parents to their unfledged young, and the 
real affection which the members of a family have for one another 
up to the time of their separation in the spring, have been so touch- 
ingly described by two of the most gifted of our writers on field 


Bob lWhite, the Game Bird of America. 673 


sports, that I must here quote them; especially as the writings of W. 
P. Hawes (‘‘J. Cypress, Jr.”) are now rarely met with. He says: 


“Tf you would see the purest, the sincerest, the most affecting piety of a parent’s 
love, startle a family of young quails and watch the conduct of the mother. She will 
not leave you. No, not she. But she will fall at your feet, uttering a noise which none 
but a distressed mother can make, and she will run, and flutter, and seem to try to be 
caught, and cheat your outstretched hand, and affect to be wing-broken and wounded, 
and yet have just strength to tumble along, until she has drawn you, fatigued, a safe 
distance from her threatened children and the hopes of her young heart; and then 
she will mount, whirring with glad strength, and away through the maze of trees you 
had not seen before, like a close-shot bullet, fly to her skulking infants. Listen, now! 
Do you hear those three half-plaintive notes, quickly and clearly poured out? She is 
calling the boys and girls together. She sings not now ‘ Bob White!’ nor ‘ Ah! Bob 
White!’ That is her husband’s love-call, or his trumpet-blast of defiance. But she 
calls sweetly and softly for her lost children. Hear them ‘ Peep! peep! peep!’ at the 
welcome voice of their mother’s love! They are coming together. Soon the whole 
family will meet again. It is a foul sin to disturb them; but retread your devious way, 
and let her hear your coming footsteps breaking down the briers as you renew the dan- 
ger. She is quiet. Nota word is passed between the fearful fugitives. Now, if you 
have the heart to do it, lie low, keep still, and imitate the call of the hen-quail. Oh, 
mother, mother! How your heart would die if you could witness the deception! The 
little ones raise up their trembling heads and catch comfort and imagined safety from 
the sound. ‘Peep! peep!’ They are coming to you, straining their little eyes and 
clustering together, and, answering, seem to say: ‘Where is she? Mother! mother! 
We are here!’” 


The following is by Henry William Herbert (‘Frank For- 


rester’): 


“Unlike the young broods of the woodcock, which are mute, save the twitter with 
which they rise, the bevies of quail appear to be attached to each other by tender affec- 
tion. If dispersed by accidental causes, either in the pursuit of their food, or from being 
flushed by some casual intruder, so soon as their first alarm has passed over, they begin 
calling to each other with a small, plaintive note, quite different from the amorous whis- 
tle of the male bird and from their merry, day-break cheeping, and each one running 
toward the sound, and repeating it at intervals, they soon collect themselves together 
into one happy little family. 

“Tf, however, the ruthless sportsman has been among them with his well-trained 
setter and unerring gun, so that death has sorely thinned their numbers, they will pro- 
tract their little call for their lost comrades even to night-fall; and in such cases—I 
know not if it be fancy on my part—there has often seemed to me to be an unusual 
degree of melancholy in their wailing whistle. 

“ Once this struck me especially. I had found a small bevy of thirteen birds in an 
orchard, close to the house in which I was passing a portion of the autumn, and in a 
very few minutes killed twelve of them, for they lay hard in the tedded clover, and it 


43 


674 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


was perfectly open shooting. ‘The thirteenth and last bird, rising with two others 
which I killed right and left, flew but a short distance and dropped among some 
sumacs in the corner of a rail fence. I could have shot him certainly enough, but 
some undefined feeling induced me to call my dog to heel, and spare his little life; yet 
afterward I almost regretted what I certainly intended at the time for mercy. For day 
after day, so long as I remained in the country, I heard his sad call from morn till dewy 
eve, crying for his departed friends, and full, apparently, of memory, which is, alas! but 
too often another name for sorrow. 

“Tt is a singular proof how strong is the passion for the chase and the love of pur- 
suit implanted by nature in the heart of man, that however much, when not influenced 
by the direct heat of sport, we deprecate the killing of these little birds and pity the 
individual sufferers, the moment the dog points and the bevy springs, or the propitious 
morning promises good sport, all the compunction is forgotten in the eagerness and 
emulation which are natural to our race.” 


Bob White schools the wing-shot as severely as the wily trout 
tries the angler. Like the trout, he has habits which we must be 
acquainted with in order to find him, and when found we ourselves 
may be found—wanting. Am I not a convicted boaster? Was it 
not only yesterday when I to myself said proudly “I’m a crack- 


shot”? 
‘Deeply hast sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
And shall not soon depart.” 


It requires much experience to divine the whereabouts of Bob 
White. If the weather be fair, start early, for the birds will be on 
their feeding-grounds at sunrise, and will be found in the fields of 
stubble, or in the midst of the rag-weed, and along the brier-fringed 
ditches; and do not forget the field of buckwheat, for they are 
especially fond of it. About ten or eleven they will cease feeding, 
and will seek the sunny side of some covert near a stream, where 
they will quench their thirst after their morning meal. Here they 
will dust and preen themselves, and take their noonday siesta. The 
birds will generally remain here till three or four hours after mid- 
day, and, closely huddled as they are, they are difficult for the dog 
to find. 

The sportsman, if wise, will now follow the example of the birds, 
and seeking the quiet of some sheltered sunny nook, will take his 
lunch and rest himself and his dogs. How well we remember that 
pleasant spring-side, with the dogs stretched before us to catch the 
warm rays of the sun, their eyes furtively glancing at us, waiting for 


Bob White, the Game bird of America. 675 


BOB WHITE AND EUROPEAN QUAIL. 


their share of the lunch; the fragrant cigar, with pleasant jokes at 
our bad shots and untimely tumble, the generous admiration of our 
companions’ skill, and talk about the wonderful working of the dogs. 
“What a picture! When that dog suddenly stopped at the end of 
his bound over that hillock, and with a hare in his mouth backed the 
Laverack bitch drawing on to a covey which she found just as he 
was retrieving!” “Yes! and don’t you remember, on t’other side of 
those woods, when she froze to the top of that stone fence when, in 
the act of leaping it, she winded a covey not twenty feet off on the 
other side?” * ‘Yes, good dogs! you have deserved well of us!” 
“So here’s a glass of sherry to their long lives in happy hunting- 
grounds, and success to the day!” and we are off on a tramp of a half- 
dozen miles, which will bring to bag another score of birds and take us 
to the blazing hickory and bountiful country dinner of our cheery host. 

If the weather is very dry, do not seek the birds on the uplands, 
for Bob White, though no hydropathist, likes the vicinity of water. 
But if your hunt occurs after a rainy spell, go to the upland stubble- 
fields, and work your dogs along the border of the driest and sun- 
niest of the coverts. 


* Two real incidents which happened under the eye of the author. 


676 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


MRS. BOB WHITE AND FAMILY, 


If it is windy and cold, the birds will be found in covert along 
the sunny lee slopes of the valleys, in the tall rag-weed and briers of 
the hollows, and on the sunny borders of the woods and hedge-rows. 
They will not now lie well to the dog, and when flushed will go like 
bullets into the deepest thickets. Should you hope to prevent this 
by getting them in between you and the dogs, you may often be 
mistaken, for in all likelihood they will spring over your head like 
sparks from under a blacksmith’s hammer. The shooting is now 
difficult, for you will have to turn rapidly on your heel as the bird 
passes over you, and drop your aim just wzder him while he is only 
momentarily in sight. 

If you had a fair day yesterday, but after a long spell of wet 
weather, and you returned home last night in a clear, cold, quiet air, 
you may expect to see the sunshine of to-morrow sparkling in the 
hoar-frost which covers the ground and all the herbage. Tarry at 
home till the sun has nearly melted the ice off the meadows, for you 


Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 677 


will get nothing but wet legs by tramping the fields while the 
ground is iced and while the birds are yet huddled and have not 
spread their scent. 

When the dogs are seeking the coveys, let them range widely. 
When they stand the covey, do not exhaust yourself with haste in 
reaching them, but approach leisurely and quietly. When the covey 
springs be very quick, but very, very steady, and do not fire till you 
are sure of your aim. Remember that it is your left arm and wrist 
that direct your gun; so grasp it well forward on the fore-end, and 
not near the breech, as some do. You will thus be able to give your 
gun that quick and firm motion which is indispensable to skill in 
“snap-shooting”; and all shooting at Bob White is of that character. 

If it is your first shot of the season, and you are not gifted with 
a very steady nerve, you will do well to charge your gun with but 
one cartridge. By doing so, it is probable that a bird will drop to 
your first shot. If you had had two shots, you might have been too 
anxious for two birds, and thus have lost both. After two or three 
successes with a single barrel, try ‘‘a double” over the next point. 

Always flush the birds yourself, for a dog “hied on” to flush may 
do so of his own accord when you are out of gunshot. At the 
springing of the covey, the dog must “down charge,” or “drop to 
shot,” and in either case hold his charge till ordered to “hold up” or 
to “seek dead.” If he ‘break shot,” he will often cause you great 
vexation in the loss of shots by his flushing birds which did not 
spring with their fellows, but which now get up in rapid succession, 
and before you have had time to reload. But a good retriever has 
his greatest pleasure in fetching a dead bird, and the intense satis- 
faction this act gives to him often causes him to lose his head and 
rush in on the report of the gun. The dropping to shot and retain- 
ing charge is one of the prime requisites in a dog, and is as difficult 
to teach a good retriever as it is essential to the true enjoyment of 
sport. 

If the dog is unsteady, and apt to “break shot,” do not load if 
you have fired only one barrel, for, in so doing, other birds may rise 
just as you have opened your gun or are handling a cartridge. 

After the covey has been scattered, give your dog but little range. 
Keep your eye well on him as you approach the ground where you 
or your gillie has marked the birds. Be ready, if he be rash when 


43A 


678 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


a 


ey rane full \ PRELE RENE Le 
VIS Pai WAA Ay [ [a ig er ae 


we 


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y 
PA E aon , 


Seah 
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STEADY, THERE! TO-HO! 


he “winds” the birds, to chide him, in a voice just sufficient to be 
heard. Steady, there! To-ho! 

Above all things, do not get excited and gain in voice as you 
lose in temper. Take it leisurely, be quiet and cool, if you would 
enjoy the sport and kill cleanly. By all means, train your dog, if 
possible, to hunt without shouting to him. A short, quick whistle 
should call his attention. Then give him the order he waits for by 
waves of the hand: forward for “on”; a wave to the right or left, 
as you may desire him to quarter; while the upraised arm, with the 
palm of your hand toward him, should bring to ‘‘to-ho.” Or, two 
short whistles may be often better for the same order, while one 
much prolonged should bring him to “heel.” A dog that with head 
well up winds his birds and is stanch on a covey, that will drop to 
shot and retain his charge till ordered to retrieve, and will receive 
and obey your orders from the whistle and the motions of your arm 
and hand, is a dog indeed. 

After the covey has been flushed and shot at and the birds have 
been well scattered, the real enjoyment in Bob White shooting 


Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 679 


begins. One may now have single and double shots over all kinds 
of ground and at birds taking every conceivable direction of flight. 
But often, the best of markers will be baffled in finding the birds 
whose flight he has carefully noted after the springing of the covey. 
The following incident is typical of the experience of all sportsmen: 
A large covey was once flushed and shot at, three birds falling to 
our fire. My friend and I watched the other birds as they flew 
across a swale, where we sprung them, and we saw them sail with 
extended wings over a large field on the valley slope, into which 
they dropped after a few flutters of their wings. On our approach 
to the field, the dogs quartered it, but they did not come to a 
stand. One dog flushed a bird on which he came suddenly, and 
he at once “charged.” We found the dogs useless, and calling 
them to “heel,” we walked slowly into the sedge. When we were 
about in the center of the field, the birds began to rise succes- 
sively and singly in all directions—in front, on our side, and 
sometimes behind us, giving us delightful shots. Similar experiences 
recurring so often have made some sportsmen suppose that Bob 
White has a voluntary power of retaining his scent, and thus in 
time of danger eludes the dogs. But this well-known occurrence 
can be explained otherwise. Often when the frightened birds 
alight, they do not run, but instantly crouch with their wings closely 
pressed against their bodies, so as to squeeze themselves into 
the smallest compass. This act, no doubt, causes a diminution 
in the emission of their effluvia. But if the birds have run after 
alighting, the dogs will surely find them, provided they do not run 
rapidly and to great distances, in which case the dogs are baffled 
by the multiplicity of scents; and especially will this be so if the dog 
gets on the trail of a bird which doubles like a hare on its track. 

This baffling of a dog on ground containing a recently scattered 
covey shows that time should be allowed for the birds to recover from 
their confusion and begin to run together before you “hie on” the 
dogs to find them. If you are familiar with the country, and can 
remember the landmarks, the proper method is to flush two or three 
coveys, and then begin to hunt the scattered birds of the respective 
coveys in the order in which you flushed them. 

To become a successful shot at Bob White, the sportsman should 
bear in mind that Bob, immediately after he has sprung, flies with a 
velocity which probably exceeds that of any other bird ; and also that, 


680 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


unless fairly hit, he can carry off a number of pellets. When 
a covey springs, it rises at a considerable angle with the ground. 
Hence, in shooting at a bird in a flushed covey, the sportsman of 
unsteady nerve and sluggish muscles is apt to undershoot, the bird 
rising with such velocity that by the time the gunner has brought 
his gun into position the bird has passed above his line of sight. As 
a rule, I think that about one second generally elapses between the 
instant of springing of the bird and the moment of fire. This inter- 
val gives the bird time to gain a moderately horizontal line of flight, 
and allows the sportsman to get a fair aim. 

In shooting at an incoming bird, let him be out of sight, and 
just below the rib of your gun at the moment of firing. Ata bird 
going overhead, wait till he has passed well over; then shoot under 
him. At straightaway shots, hold a little high, so that you just catch 
a glimpse of the bird over your barrels. 

In shooting at cross shots, it should be understood that the 
velocity of an ounce of No. 8 shot driven with three drams of 
powder is near to goo feet per second. In that second a Bob 
White, if under full headway, will go 88 feet, if we estimate the 
velocity of his flight so low as only a mile a minute. If he is 
flying directly across your line of sight and thirty yards off, the shot 
will take one-tenth of a second to reach that distance, and in one- 
tenth of a second the bird has gone over eight and eight-tenths 
feet. So, if we should fire a snap-shot directly at a cross-flying 
bird thirty yards distant, the center of the cloud of shot’would fall 
about nine feet behind him, and he would pass by unscathed. To 
kill him “clean,” you must hold nine feet ahead of him. To some 
sportsmen nine feet may seem a great distance to “hold ahead” 
on a cross-flying bird thirty yards away, but not to those who have 
noticed attentively the relations of the line of their aim to the posi- 
tion of the bird a¢ the very moment they hear the report of their gun. 
Also, estimations of distances in the air beside a small and quickly 
moving object are very unreliable, and often when the sportsman 
thinks he has fired only one foot ahead of a bird he has really 
held ahead three feet. Let some one suspend horizontally in the 
air an unfamiliar object that must be distant from fence-rails and 
other things whose dimensions you know, and then guess its length. 
You will, after a few trials, be satisfied that the estimation of actual 
lengths at thirty yards is very fallacious. 


Lob White, the Game Bird of America. 681 


Bob White is a tough and hardy little fellow, and the true 
sportsman, always a humane man, will remember this and endeavor 
to kill him outright. Often a bird will fly two or three hundred 
yards, though mortally wounded. It is the duty of all sportsmen 
to watch carefully the flight of the birds he has shot at, and his 
experience of the nature of their flight will tell him if the bird has 
been struck. If he concludes that he has been, then it is his 
bounden duty to bring that bird to bag, and that right quickly. 

The extraordinary vitality of this vigorous bird was once forcibly 
impressed on me. A covey was flushed at about one hundred yards 
from the edge of a wood. Only a few of the birds -flew to the 
woods. One of them, going at a tremendous velocity, crossed my 
position at a distance of about forty yards. Holding my gun at 
what I judged was the proper distance ahead of him, I fired. 
This was the only shot fired at the birds making for the wood. 

“Sam,” said I to our negro gillie, “1 think I hit that bird.” 

“No, sah,” said Sam; “I tink not, sah. He’s a-gwine to whah 
he forgit he lef’ suffin, sah!” 

Sam is a good marker, and has carefully watched the flight 
of hundreds of birds shot at. Yet I could not entirely satisfy 
myself that the bird was not fairly hit, though he kept straight 
on in his vigorous flight. A sprained foot prevented rapid walk- 
ing, and my companion entered the wood, with the dogs, before 
me. As I struck the edge of the woods [ heard the report of 
his gun, and, after proceeding about one hundred yards, I heard a 
second shot, and in another instant a bird tumbled through the 
air and fell about a dozen feet in advance of me. I called out: 

“T have them both!” 

“Both what?” said he. ‘I only shot one bird, and the other 
flew away from your direction and | missed him clean.” 

The bird my friend shot lay with his head toward me; the 
other, a large cock, lay on his back with his bill pointing toward 
the other bird, and not more than a foot from him. Both birds 
were warm. The large cock was the one I had fired at. He 
was struck fairly in the head and chest, and yet he had pitched 
into the woods and gone altogether nearly two hundred yards 
before he succumbed to his death-wounds. 

Rules for shooting are of value, and directions founded on 
theory may serve to inform the beginner why he misses, and 


682 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


thus show him the way to improvement in his marksmanship; 
but no matter how well we may know ow the shooting should 
be done, ¢o do z¢ is an art which can be attained only by the 
assiduous cultivation and development of certain peculiar natural gifts. 

A beginner who, out of three shots, can bring one Bob White to 
bag, need not be discouraged or ashamed; with sufficient practice, 
he may one day kill one out of two birds fired at. The sportsman 
who does not select his shots (and no man really a sportsman caz 
do that), but takes his chances in the open and in covert on all birds 
which offer a probability of success to his skill, and who, the season 
through, brings to his bag three out of five birds fired at, is an 
accomplished sportsman. If he can make three successful shots out 
of four, he is a phenomenal marksman. 


EUROPEAN RED-LEGGED PARTRIDGES. (CACCABIS RUFA.) 


Last season, I shot with the best wing-shot I ever hunted with. 
At my request, this gentleman, Mr. H. K. B. Davis, of Philadel- 
phia, has written for me the following statement, which, coming from 
one who has had such unusual opportunities in hunting Bob White, 
in North Carolina, cannot fail to be of interest to all sportsmen: 


“T find, on referring to my record containing the number of coveys found and the 
number of birds killed, that the average is but little over three birds brought to bag 


Lob White, the Game Bird of America. 683 


from each covey flushed. When it is remembered that the usual number of birds 
found in a covey runs from ten to eighteen, it will give some idea of the difficulties to 
be overcome, and the large proportion of birds that escape even with good shooting, 
as the same record shows that seventy-three out of every hundred birds shot at were 
brought to bag. This record, extending over four years and running up into the 
thousands of birds killed, gives very reliable data to base calculations upon. 

“The dogs I hunted with I have every reason to believe are above the average in 
speed, endurance, and scenting powers; so there is only one conclusion to arrive at, 
and that is that these birds are exceedingly difficult both to find and to kill. 

“There are many opinions as to the proper method of shooting on the wing. Some 
hold that ‘snap-shooting 
generally understood to consist in putting the gun to the shoulder and firing the instant 
it is in position ; making the allowance to the right, left, under, or above, as the case 
may require, before raising the gun; just as you point your finger, instinctively, to any 
object without having to sight along it. Others are just as sure that no one ever shot 
decently unless he followed the bird with the sight on the gun and covered it before 
firing. Some, again, insist that you must swing your gun along with the course of the 
bird after pulling the trigger. In my opinion, every one who has shot very much 


¢ 
c 


is the only way to shoot successfully.  Snap-shooting is 


acquires a style peculiar to himself, and depending on his temperament and the kinds 
of birds he has had the most practice on. 

“Tt may be well to give a few hints as to the necessary allowance to be made in 
taking aim at a bird flying so rapidly as Bob White. The most difficult shot is a bird 
coming directly toward you, and flying about twenty feet above the ground. I have 
been quite successful in this shot, by holding directly at the bird until he is within 
range, and then, just as I touch the trigger, I raise the muzzle of the gun about six 
inches. I would only advise trying this shot where there is more than one bird, and 
you want to use the second barrel. When there is only one incoming bird, wait until 
he passes over you, and then by shooting under him, more or less, according to the 
speed and elevation at which he is flying, you will be pretty sure to kill. 

“Tn cross shots, at thirty yards and over, hold above the line of flight and from six 
to nine feet ahead of the bird. This may seem entirely too much, but I have frequently 
shot Bob White when flying parallel to a rail-fence, when I aimed the full length of 
the rail ahead of him, this being nearly twelve feet.” 


The shooting of Bob White demands such quick action in hand- 
ling the gun, and such long tramps to discover his retreats, that I 
would advise light guns for his pursuit. A pound more in weight 
will be felt in the afternoon of a long day’s hunt, and the rapidity 
and ease with which a light and short gun can be handled makes it 
very efficient in snap-shooting in covert. A twelve-gauge seven- 
pound gun, of twenty-eight-inch barrels, carrying one ounce of No. 
8 shot and three drams of powder, or a sixteen-guage of six pound’s 
weight and twenty-six-inch barrels, charged with seven-eighths of 
an ounce of shot and two and three-quarter drams of powder, is to 


684 Bob White, the Game Bird of America. 


my liking in this most enjoyable of field sports; in which occupation 
may next season find you, my sportsman reader, who, though now 
weary and city-worn, will then forget your uncertain triumphs and 
petty vexations, when, 


“ Full of the expected sport, your heart beats high 
As, with impatient steps, you haste to reach 
The stubbles, where the scattered grain affords 
A sweet repast to the yet heedless game. 
Near yonder hedge-row, where high grass and ferns 
The secret hollow shade, your pointers stand. 
How beautiful they look! With outstretched tails, 
With heads immovable and eyes fast fixed; 
One fore-leg raised and bent, the other firm, 
Advanced forward, presses on the ground!” 


Ee SVE RICAN IWOODCOCK€ 


b 


By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, Pu. D. 


HERE is a little russet-coated bird, dear to the heart of every 
sportsman, whose name is Phzlohela minor. He is found in 
Canada and in Florida, in Maine and in Kansas, but the 

high, dry plains of the Rocky Mountain region limit the extension of 
his range westward, for he is a bird that loves moisture and cool, 
dark thickets. 

The woodcock is not often seen, and is quite contented to be 
overlooked. He has no brilliant song to catch the ear, no gaudy 
plumes to attract the eye, nor does he perform graceful evolutions 
high in air in the broad glare of day. He is truly a modest fowl, 
and, except at night, or during the twilight of morning or evening, 
he does not willingly venture into situations where he can be viewed 
by the casual wanderer through field or wood. One who desires to 
make his acquaintance must penetrate into the depths of the most 
tangled swamps to find him at home. Even here, during the day, 
he is usually half asleep. Not so drowsy, however, as to be unaware 
of the approach of an intruder. The soft rustling of the leaves, the 
occasional snapping of a dry twig, and the sound of the heavy foot- 
fall rouse him from his doze or his day-dream. He moves sideways 
beneath the spreading leaves of a tuft of skunk-cabbage and, with 
head turned on one side and great eyes spread to their widest, 
watches for the approaching form. Once in a while something may 
cause him to take the alarm, and dart away before it is within sight; 
but usually he lies close,—and when he rises, it is near at hand. He 
springs from the ground, uttering a shrill, twittering whistle, and 
twists about in his upward flight to dodge the branches which spread 


686 The American lWoodcock. 


in a net-work above him, until he has topped the undergrowth, and 
then darts off in a straight line for fifty or a hundred yards, to 
plunge once more into his beloved cover. 

In some parts of Canada the woodcock is known as a “ bog- 
sucker,” while in the sea-board counties of Virginia he is a “night 
partridge” or a “pewee,” and again, in portions of North Caro- 
lina, a “night peck.” 

As compared with his European cousin of the same name, 
the American woodcock is a small bird, weighing only from five 
to nine ounces. He is eleven or twelve inches in length, and of 
this the bill occupies from two and one-half to three inches. The 
plumage below is rich russet-brown, paling, on the upper breast, 
sides of the neck, and forehead, to ashen-gray. The crown is 
black with two or three cross-lines of tawny, and the back is curi- 
ously mottled with tawny, ash-gray and black, the latter predom- 
inating. The tail feathers are black, barred with tawny, their tips 
smoky-gray on the upper side and snow-white beneath. The legs 
and feet are pale flesh-color, the bill dark horn-color at the tip, be- 
coming paler at the base, and the large, soft, humid eyes are brown. 

The group of birds to which the woodcock and his near rela- 
tive, the so-called “ English” snipe belong, have a number of curious 
anatomical features, which have a direct relation to their mode of 
life. In most of the species the eye is very large, and placed high 
up and far back on the head, and the external opening of the ear is 
directly beneath, instead of behind it; the brain is tilted up, so to 
speak, and hence its base looks forward, instead of downward, as is 
usually the case with birds. The bill is soft and swollen at the tip, 
and is abundantly supplied with nerves, thus becoming a very delicate 
organ of touch. The birds are nocturnal or crepuscular in habit, 
and secure their food by probing and feeling for it in the soft ground. 
But they do not always, even if their brains are one quarter turned 
round, fall an easy prey to their human enemies. 

The woodcock is almost the first of our migrants to return in 
the spring, and soon after his arrival, which is usually in March, 
he makes his presence known to those who understand where and 
when to listen for him, by the curious night song with which he 
wooes his mate. On warm, moonlight evenings he takes his flight 
high in air, and when far above the earth utters at frequent intervals 


WOODCOCK AND YOUNG, 


(DRAWN BY JAMES C. BEARD, AFTER SPECIMENS MOUNTED BY W. T. HORNADAY.) 


The American Woodcock. 689 


a single note, somewhat like the ordinary call of the night-hawk. 
This he continues for some time, and then suddenly pitches down- 
ward from his height, and drops into cover. Here the female is 
waiting for him, and about her he struts, with head thrown back, wings 
trailing, and tail spread,—a parody on the turkey-cock of the farm- 
yard. The nest is a rude structure of dead leaves and grass, and 
‘is usually placed under a fence, or by a log in some thick swamp, 
or perhaps on a tussock or bit of high ground in some alder run. 
The eggs are generally four in number, and are of a dull cream color 
marked with large spots of bright brown. As soon as the young 
emerge from the egg, they leave the nest and follow the mother. 
Thenceforward their development is rapid, and young birds have 
been found well able to fly by April 10. Two broods are usually 
reared in the Middle States. A curious habit of the woodcock, 
which, though well attested, is as yet but little understood, is its 
practice of carrying its young from place to place, apparently to 
avoid danger. Exactly how the mother bird does this is, owing to 
imperfect observation, as yet a question, but the weight of evidence 
goes to show that she holds it clasped between her thighs, as a 
rider does his horse, and does not carry it in her weak and slender 
claws. She will sometimes thus transport her young for a hundred 
yards or more, and if pursued will even make a second flight with it. 

By the last of July in favorable seasons the young of the second 
hatching are quite fit to look out for themselves, and early in August 
the woodcock disappear; that is to say, can no longer be found by 
those who search for them. In September they collect once more in 
their accustomed haunts, and they are fat, in good plumage, and fit 
for the gun. 

Formerly it was legal all over the country to kill this species 
during the month of July, at which time many of the young were 
barely able to fly, and when, after a late spring, some of the mother 
birds were still brooding the eggs of their second hatching. This 
practice, although often shown to be most pernicious, is still per- 
mitted in some States, but is universally condemned by the better 
class of sportsmen. 

The coming together in September of the birds which have been 
mysteriously hidden away, no one knows where, is often loosely 
spoken of as “the first flight,” or, in other words, is regarded as the 


44 


690 The American Woodcock. 


beginning of the southward migration. It is, however, nothing more 
than a collecting in favorite food localities of the “home birds *— 
those which have spent the summer, or been reared, in the neighbor- 
hood. 

The first true migratory movement of the woodcock usually fol- 
lows a sharp frost early in October. The birds are not gregarious, 
and for the most part move singly ; though two, three, and even four 
have been seen flying together, and sometimes six or eight may be 
started in succession from a single small piece of cover. The migra- 
tion is performed during the night; though in dull; cloudy weather 
there is some movement in the day-time. Their flight is low over 
the fields, and sometimes half a dozen will pass by in an hour. This 
low flight is swift and the birds are often killed by flying against 
telegraph wires, and sometimes dash themselves against buildings. 

In New York and New Jersey, the woodcock may almost be con- 
sidered as resident, for in mild’winters a few birds are to be found 
late in December and early in February. The bird does not seem 
especially to dread the cold, but the freezing up of the ground cuts 
off the supply of food, and so obliges it to move southward. Often, 
however, in the coldest weather, an old fat bird may be found about 
some warm spring hole, where the ground never freezes; and here, 
if undisturbed, it may remain all through the winter. 

The principal food of woodcock is the earth-worm, though they 
also devour many insects which are to be found in the damp situa- 
tions which they affect, and have been seen to catch butterflies. 
The ‘‘angle-worm,” however, is the main reliance of this species, and 
the number of those which a single bird will devour in a given time 
is astonishing. Audubon says that a woodcock will devour in a 
single night more than its own weight in worms, and some experi- 
ments on this point, recently made on a captive bird, entirely confirm 
the observations of the great naturalist. This specimen was appar- 
ently a male, and weighed, at the time of its capture, five ounces. 
His cage was two feet long and one deep, and had been fitted 
up for him by covering the bottom with long, dry moss, except in one 
end, where there was a box of wet earth, eight inches square and 
three deep. The bird was fed altogether on earth-worms, and these 
were buried, a few at a time, in the mud. From the first, this wood- 
cock manifested very little fear of man; and it was but a short time 


The American Woodcock. 691 


EGG OF WOODCOCK. 


before he so well understood what the opening of his cage door 
meant, that at the approach of his owner he would run to his “ feed- 
ing-ground” in anticipation of the meal. So eager was he that it 
was necessary to push him away to the other end of the cage while 
the worms were being buried. As soon as he was permitted he 
would run to the mud and ‘‘bore” for the worms. This was a very 
interesting proceeding. He would push the point of his bill into 
the earth at an angle of about eighty degrees, and by two or three 
deliberate thrusts bury it to the base. While doing this the left foot 
was slightly advanced, and the body somewhat inclined forward. 
When the bill was wholly buried, he stood for a few seconds perfectly 
still, as if listening. Perhaps he was doing so; but it seems more 
probable that he was waiting to see if he could perceive any move- 
ment in the earth near his bill. If none was felt he would withdraw 
his probe and thrust it in again a little further on. If, however, he 
detected any movement, the beak was hastily withdrawn, rapidly 
plunged in again in a slightly different direction, and the unfortunate 
worm was brought to the surface and devoured with evident satis- 
faction. When the supply of worms was exhausted the bird care- 
fully cleansed the mud from his bill by means of his feet and, after 
giving himself a shake or two, retired to the farthest corner of his 
cage, buried his long beak among the feathers of his back and set- 
tled himself for a quiet after-dinner nap. Sometimes he would 
thrust his bill down among the moss once or twice, and then walking 
to his water-dish would wash it by slowly moving his head from 
side to side. After he had been confined for over a month, the 
worms fed to the bird during twenty-four consecutive hours were 
counted and weighed, and he was found to have eaten two hundred 
worms, weighing five and one-quarter ounces. At the end of this 


692 The American lWoodcock. 


time he was still eager for food. Somewhat later he had increased 
one ounce in weight, and he now ate in twenty-four hours no less 
than eight ounces of worms. 

If it were worth while to have a special gun for woodcock shoot- 
ing, it should weigh not more than seven pounds, with 28-inch barrels, 
and be of 12 or 16 gauge; but the one used for quail will answer 
every purpose. The charge should be three drams powder and 
an ounce of 12 shot. As, however, quail and ruffed grouse are 
almost sure to be started during a day’s tramp after woodcock in the 
autumn, a more general charge, three and a half drams powder 
and an ounce of 10 shot is better. The dog is a most important 
auxiliary in woodcock shooting. A very few sportsmen employ 
cocker or field spaniels, which are trained to range close to the gun, 
and to give tongue as soon as they strike the scent, thus warning 
the shooter of the proximity of the bird, and preparing him for its 
possible rising. But most men use the setter or pointer. A good 
woodcock dog should werk close; that is, within sight of the gun. 
Often where the undergrowth is very thick, it becomes necessary to 
attach a bell to the dog’s collar, so that if he pass out of sight for a 
few moments, his whereabouts may still be known by the sound. 

Late in November you will still find a few birds, and at this time 
they will all be lusty and strong of wing, and will test your skill. 
Cross the meadows then, and go down into the swamp, working 
along near the edge, where the underbrush is not too thick, and 
the soil under the leaves, as you can see in the cattle-tracks, is rich 
and black. Just beyond you on the left, a steep hill-side rises 
sharply from the edge of the swamp, its surface overgrown with 
low cedars, sumacs, and bayberry bushes. The old dog comes out 
of the swamp and turns toward the slope and, as he crosses before 
you, glances back inquiringly. He knows the hill-side, and under- 
stands as well as you do, that a cock is usually to be found on that 
warm southern exposure, at this time of the year. No need to wave 
the hand or use any elaborate signal to tell him to work up among 
the cedars and through the brush. A little sidewise movement of 
the head, and he is breasting the steep ascent, and rustling among 
the twigs and over the crisp leaves, while you walk along a cow- 
path at the foot of the slope. If there be a bird there, it will be 
sure to fly toward the swamp, and must, therefore, cross in front of 
you. For a few moments you hear the dog as he works along 


The American Woodcock. 693 


above you; then the sound ceases and, as you pause to listen for 
it, there comes to the ear that shrill whistle, so like the midsummer 
twitter of the kingbird, that warns you to ‘mark cock.” You see 
a brown flash among the green cedars, and the bird darts out to 
plunge into the swamp; but as he sees you, he turns sharply and 
flies down the path, straight away. You have plenty of time ; 
bring up your gun deliberately, cover the bird and, when it is about 
thirty yards distant, fire, and it is yours. At the report of the gun 
your dog appears on the bank above, pauses a moment until you 
have slipped another cartridge into the gun, and then dashes off 
toward where the bird lies. A word steadies him as he approaches 
it, and after quartering once or twice, the scent reaches his nostrils. 
He feels for it, then pauses, and at command steps forward, gently 
takes the bird in his mouth, and trots slowly toward you, express- 
ing as much pride and satisfaction in his face and in his slowly 
wagging tail as if he had captured the prize without any assistance of 
yours. On again, along the border of the swamp, sometimes stoop- 
ing low to pass beneath the tangled underbrush, or forcing your 
way through the thick alders, making the dead stems crack and fly, 
or passing through a spot free from low shrubs, where the tall, gray 
trunks of the hardwood trees stand far apart, and the footfall is 
scarcely heard on the damp, dead leaves. For some time the dog 
works quietly ahead of you, manifesting none of the signs which 
would lead you to suspect that birds were near; but as you approach 
a little arm of the swamp which runs up a narrow ravine, the merry 
action of the setter’s tail warns you to be prepared for the point. 
Yes, there where the wind has swept aside the leaves, exposing the ; 
black mud beneath, you see in it dozens of little round holes which 
tell you that the long bill has been at work here. Suddenly he 
stops and stands quite still, except that the tip of his tail moves a 
little from side to side. As you step up to him, he moves on again, 
very slowly and cautiously, and then suddenly stops and remains 
motionless. It is a pretty picture, and one that the sportsman never 
tires of watching and admiring. The dog’s forefoot is raised in the 
act of stepping, his tail is straight and rigid, head a little above the 
line of the back and slightly turned to one side, ears a little pricked. 
Walk up beside him and look at his face, and you will see, what 
his attitude already indicates, that he is laboring under strong 
excitement. His nose is perhaps within a few inches of the bird, 


A4A 


694 | The American Woodcock. 


and the scent is strong. You can see his eyes roll as he looks 
over the ground before him. His forehead is knotted into a frown, 
which shows how thoroughly in earnest he is. If you did not care 
about getting the shot, you might take the dog up by the tail and 
the back of the neck and throw him down to the ground without 
his relaxing a muscle. He would remain in exactly the position 
he had when he touched the earth again. This is an experiment 
which one may easily make when out quail-shooting, and it is inter- 
esting to see how completely the knowledge of the presence of game 
overcomes the will-power of the animal. He will not make a move- 
ment after he has established his point. You may put the raised 
forefoot on the ground, and lift the other one, or may raise a hind- 
foot—everything remains just as you placed it. 

But your bird does not usually lie long enough for any of these 
operations to be gone through with. He is likely to fly up, from 
beneath the dog’s nose, so close to you that you cannot shoot with- 
out running the risk of either missing altogether, or else blowing 
him to fragments, and will then, perhaps, dart behind a thick cedar, 
or twist into some alders, through which you can hardly see to shoot. 

The “alder runs,” so numerous throughout the New England 
States, are most satisfactory places to work for woodcock. These 
are usually the channels of little brooks, a few feet below the general 
level of the open meadows through which they pass. The ground 
is too damp to be successfully cultivated, and the farmer gives it up | 
to the black alder, which attains a height of from fifteen to twenty 
feet. Beneath these, in the wet, springy soil, the skunk-cabbage 
( Symplocarpus ), a variety of ferns, and many other moisture-loving 
plants grow in wild luxuriance. These ‘‘runs,” or swales, are often 
so narrow that the best way to hunt them, if two are shooting to- 
gether, is for one to take each side and let the dog work between 
them. The birds, when started, will either show themselves above 
the alders or, what is more likely, will break out on one side or 
the other, and fly forward along the edge of the bushes, giving a 
perfectly open shot, and one which not even a tyro ought to miss. 
In working out such places the bell should be put on the dog, for it is 
often so dark beneath the thick growth that it is difficult to see him. 
Should he come toa point and the bird decline to rise, a heavy stick or 
stone thrown into the bushes, just in front of him, will often flush it. 


SNIPE-SHOOPDING. 


By GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL, Pu. D. 


HE Wilson’s snipe is, in habits and appearance, very unlike 

his near relative the woodcock. While the latter is a rather 

heavily built, thick-set bird,—stocky, so to speak,—the snipe 
is much more slim and elegant in form. It is much smaller, too, 
weighing only about four ounces. It very closely resembles the 
jack snipe of Europe,—whence its usual appellation, ‘* English,”— 
of which it is, according to the present views of ornithologists, only 
a variety (Gallinago media Wilsonz). In length it almost equals 
its cousin, already referred to, measuring from nine to eleven inches. 
The crown of the head is black, with a median stripe of cream color, 
the neck speckled with brown and gray, back variegated with black, 
reddish brown, and tawny, the latter forming longitudinal stripes on 
the inner long feathers of the shoulders. The tail is barred with 
black, white, and chestnut brown, the sides are waved with dusky, 
and the lower breast and belly are white. The bill is dark, and the 
feet and legs are pale greenish. 

This species has a very wide distribution, and is found through- 
out the whole continent. It only insists on moist feeding-grounds, 
and so may be taken on the borders of streams and about the 
sloughs of the Western plains, around the edges of the alkaline 
lakes of the great central plateau of the Rocky Mountains, and in 
the marshes and along the river bottoms of California, as well as in 
the East and the Mississippi valley. 

It passes the winter in the Gulf States, where at that season it is 
extremely abundant, and begins its northward migration early in 
February. By the last of that month it has reached the marshes of 


696 Sutpe -Shooting. 


North Carolina, and sometimes Virginia; and it usually makes its 
appearance in New Jersey and New York about the last of March 
or the first of April, though the date of its arrival depends almost 
entirely on the weather, and the consequent condition of its feeding- 
grounds. As long as the meadows are ice-bound it is useless to 
_look for snipe; but as soon as the frost has come out of the ground, 
especially if the last thaw be followed by a soft, warm rain, the 
shooter may, with some prospect of success, visit the little spots 
of wet land, or the more extensive marshes, where his experience of 
former years tells him that the birds are likely to be found. At this 
time of the year they do not tarry long; but the places of those 
which pass on are at once filled by later comers, who are in turn 
replaced by others, so that snipe are usually found in greater or less 
abundance until after the first of May. 

This species does not ordinarily breed with us in any considerable 
numbers, most of the birds passing the season of reproduction north 
of the United States line. Still, many rear their broods in the State 
of Maine, and their nests have been found in Connecticut, New 
York, Pennsylvania, and even further south. The nest is built on 


the high ground near some wet meadow,—or sometimes on a dry : 


gS 
one if a tiny brook murmurs through the grass near at hand, —and 
is even of slighter construction than that of the woodcock, being little 
more than a depression in the ground lined with a few blades of 
grass. Four pointed eggs are laid in this, yellowish-olive in color, 
thickly spotted with black and dark umber. The young leave the 
nest as soon as they are hatched and follow the mother, or, as the 
naturalists would say, they are precocial. 

The snipe is essentially a bird of the open, and is rarely found in 
cover. Occasionally in the spring, when a late fall of snow occurs 
after the birds have come on, covering for a day or two the meadows 
where they feed, they may be found in alder or willow swamps near 
their usual haunts, probing the mud about the warm springs where 
the snow has melted; but as soon as the ground is again bare they 
leave such retreats and at once repair to the open. Sometimes, too, 
when persistently pursued on the marshes, they will take refuge 
among woods or even in dry and dusty corn-fields, but will only 
remain there for a few hours. 

The favorite feeding-grounds of the snipe are fresh meadows, 
where the ground is always moist and the soil rich. One can tell as 


? 


A WILSON’S SNIPE FAMILY. 


(DRAWN BY JAMES C. BEARD FROM SPECIMENS IN THE COLLECTION OF DR. E. B. WHITINGHAM, 
MOUNTED BY DAVID B. DICKERSON.) 


Snipe - Shooting. 699 


soon as he steps on the meadow whether the birds have recently 
‘been here; for in the cattle paths or in places where the hogs have 
been rooting, or on the bare side of a tussock where no grass grows, 
the soil will be perforated by numerous tiny holes, showing where 
the bill has been inserted in the mud in the search for food. The 
presence of high grasses or reeds may sometimes keep the birds 
away from marshes to which they would resort in numbers if it were 
not for the luxuriance of the vegetation. They do not like to alight 
among such thick cover, and besides, they cannot easily get at the 
ground. It is therefore customary, in the early spring before their 
arrival, to burn over such tracts, and places that have been treated 
in this way are favorite resorts for the travelers. 

At present the Wilson’s snipe is shot at all times and seasons, 
and has no protection under the law. The result of this unwise 
destruction is clearly seen in the greatly diminished numbers of the 
birds which annually visit our more accessible meadows. If a female 
snipe, killed in April or May, be dissected, she will be found to con- 
tain eggs in an advanced stage of development, varying in size from 
a marble to an egg nearly ready for exclusion. Many of the birds 
are paired long before they leave us in spring. They certainly 
should not be shot at this season, just as they are about to rear their 
young. Snipe-shooting in autumn is much more satisfactory, and 
the birds appear to be more numerous than in the spring, because 
at this season their feeding-grounds are more contracted, and they 
concentrate on the meadows that are always wet, and about ponds 
and marshes which have margins of black mud, in which they 
delight to bore. The prospect of finding them is thus much better 
than when they are dispersed over a much greater area. 

The main body of the snipe leave us by the latter part of Novem- 
ber, but a few prolong their stay into December, lingering as long 
as their feeding-grounds remain open. As with the woodcock, the 
cold is only indirectly the cause of their departure ; the impossibility 
of their longer obtaining food being the immediate motive which 
drives them south. On the Laramie plains, where in winter the 
temperature falls sometimes to —30°, and even —4o°, Fahrenheit, a 
few snipe are to be found throughout the winter, about certain warm 
springs which never freeze. 

Few of our birds are so poor in local names as this one, for it is 
almost everywhere known either as the “English” or the “jack” 


700 Snipe - Shooting. 


snipe. Along the New England coast, however, it has an appella- 
tion which is rather curious. As the bird arrives about the same 
time as the shad, and is found on the meadows along the rivers 
where the nets are hauled, the fishermen, when drawing their seines 
at night, often start it from its moist resting-place, and hear its sharp 
cry as it flies away through the darkness. They do not know the 
cause of the sound, and from the association they have dubbed its 
author the ‘shad spirit.” 

The snipe is either a bird of weak mind, deplorably vacillating 
in character, or else he is much more shrewd and profound than 
any one thinks. At all events, he is notorious among sportsmen for 
two characteristics, denoting either high intelligence or lamentable 
indecision. 

Most birds when they rise from the ground appear to have some 
definite idea of the direction in which they wish to go, and having 
started in a particular line of fight, keep to it, unless turned by some 
alarming apparition before them. Not so with the snipe, however. 
He springs from the ground uttering his curious squeaking cry, darts 
a few yards one way, changes his mind, and turns almost at right 
angles to his original course ; then he appears to think he has made 
a mistake, and once more alters his direction, and so twists off, 
“angling” across the meadow until he is safely out of gunshot. He 
then either rises high in the air and swings about for awhile, looking 
for a desirable spot to alight, or else settles down into a straight, 
swift course, which he keeps up until his fright is over or he has 
come to a spot which is to his liking, when he throws himself to the 
earth, and with a peculiar toss of his wings checks his progress and 
alights. The eccentric zigzag flight of this species is very puzzling 
to many sportsmen; and some who are capital shots at other birds 
appear never to be able to calculate the movements of the snipe. 
The secret of success in killing these birds consists, we believe, in 
great quickness,—that is, in wasting no time in an attempt to follow 
their flight, but in pulling the trigger at the moment the gun is on 
the object. The peculiar cry which is uttered at short intervals 
during its flight is sometimes extremely irritating, especially after 
one has missed with both barrels. What appeared when first heard 
to be only an expression of fright, or a call of warning to its compan- 
ions, sounds to the disappointed shooter, as it comes back to him 


Snipe - Shooting. 701 


more and more faintly from the distance, very much like a note of 
derision. 

The other characteristic for which the snipe is noted is the eccen- 
tricity and irregularity of its arrival and stay with us during the 
migrations. That snipe are “uncertain birds” is a proposition which 
has universal acceptance among those who shoot over the wet mead- 
ows. As arule, more dependence is to be placed on their coming in 
the fall than in the spring. But even in autumn they cannot be 
counted upon. Sometimes they arrive singly, or a few at a time, and 
those which are killed to-day are at once replaced by others; or 
again, for a week or two at a time, the meadows may be worked 
over without starting a bird, and then all at once they will be found 
in great numbers, and will then as suddenly and as completely dis- 
appear. A piece of ground which at evening affords splendid sport 
may be visited at dawn next day, and it will be found that the birds 
which were there have all departed. Happy is the man, therefore, 
who finds the snipe plenty, and he is wise who shall take advantage 
of the present opportunity. The advice, Carpe dzem, applies with 
more force to snipe-shooting than it does to a good many others of 
the affairs of life. 

As early as the last of August, an occasional snipe may be found 
on the meadows; but it is not until the latter part of September that 
the migrants begin to arrive in any numbers. They are now in 
good order—often very fat—and are lazy, and lie well to a dog, if 
the weather is right. The pleasantest time to shoot them is during 
the warm days of October and November. 

At such a time the birds are loath to rise, and will permit the 
dog to approach quite close to them before taking wing. On 
dark, cloudy days, on the other hand, especially if the wind be high, 
there is no such thing as getting a point on them, for they will 
rise at a distance of thirty or forty yards, and often the flight of 
the first one and his sharp skeap, skeap will be the signal for every 
snipe on the meadow to rise into the air and circle around for five 
or ten minutes before pitching down again. In such weather as 
this, the only chance of getting within shot of them is to work 
down the wind,—thus reversing the usual order of things in shoot- 
ing,—and to keep the dog close in. Snipe always rise against 
the wind, and, by advancing on them with it at your back, they 


702 Snipe - Shooting. 


are forced to fly toward you for some little distance, thus giving 
you an opportunity to get a shot at them at fair range. 

Where birds are scarce, a good dog is invaluable, because of 
the amount of laborious walking that he saves the shooter; but 
there are times and places where a dog is very much in the way. 
Such are some of our western snipe grounds, marshes where these 
birds are sometimes so abundant that they rise from the ground 
a dozen at a time, and where, perhaps for hours, the sound of their 
bleating cry is heard almost continually. Under such circumstances, 
a dog is only an annoyance; for the ground is so foiled by the 
scent of the many birds that have run over it that the poor 
animal is confused, and is constantly false-pointing and wasting 
his master’s time. Here the only use to which the dog can be 
put is that of retrieving. There are some cunning old dogs that, 
when they find such a condition of things existing, will come in to 
heel without orders, and pay no further attention to the birds 
which are rising around them, only occupying themselves with the 
securing of those that may be shot. 

This bird does not give forth a strong scent, and as it is often 
very little disposed to lie well, a dog of unusual keenness of nose, 
as well as caution and steadiness, is required in its pursuit. A 
very faint scent should be enough to cause him to stop until his 
master has come up to him, and he should then draw on very 
carefully until, if it will wait, he can locate his bird. There are 
days, to be sure, when snipe will permit the dog to get his nose 
within a few inches of them, but this is the exception rather than 
the rule. 

It is always a convenience, however, to have a retriever with one 
while snipe-shooting, for without considerable practice it is not easy 
to mark down the dead bird so accurately that you can walk direct 
to it. This becomes especially difficult when several birds rise 
together, or nearly so, and you shoot first one and then another, 
and then perhaps try to mark down the remainder of the whisp. 
You have a general idea of the direction in which the first one fell, 
and are sure that the second dropped close by a certain little bunch 
of grass; but when, after having strained your eyes after the living 
and marked them down, you turn your attention to the dead, you are 
likely to find yourself somewhat perplexed. You see now that there 


Snipe - Shooting. 703 


are a dozen little bunches of grass near where the second bird fell, 
any one of which may be that by which you marked him; and as for 
the first, you feel very hopeless about being able to go within twenty 
yards of where it dropped. So you may lose half an hour of valu- 
able time in searching for the dead. Practice in:marking and a 
quick eye will, after awhile, enable you to retrieve your own birds 


successfully. As a matter of fact, there is always something—a 
bunch of grass, a bit of drift stuff, a flower, a leaf, or a weed stalk 
—near your bird which is unlike anything else close to it; and 
you must see this object, whatever it is, and remember it, in the 
instant’s glance that you have. Of course, some birds will be lost, 
—that is inevitable; but it is wonderful to see how, by practice, 
the memory and the eye can be trained in a matter of this kind. 

The snipe, although often very wary, appears to be quite devoid 
of that cunning which distinguishes so many of our game birds. 
When wounded, it rarely attempts to hide, but either runs off quietly 
in a straight course, or, if only wing-tipped, springs again and again 
into the air in its attempts to fly, and constantly utters its singular 
squeak of fright. 

There is one feature of snipe-shooting which makes it very 
attractive, and this is that you have your dog constantly within 
sight; you can see all his graceful movements and enjoy his intelli- 
gent efforts to find the birds,—to locate without flushing them. To 
our notion, more than half the pleasure of field shooting of any 
description is derived from seeing the dog work, and this can be 
done better on the open snipe meadows than under almost any 
other circumstances. Beating for snipe, however, is usually, from 
the nature of the ground, very laborious work. The walking is 
often through mud and water up to the knees, or perhaps one is 
obliged to pick his way through an unusually soft marsh, springing 
from tussock to tussock, with every prospect of tumbling now and 
then from those unsteady resting places into mire of unknown 
depth. This mode of progression requires some muscular exertion 
and constant attention; and besides this, the dog must be con- 
stantly watched, and unexpected birds, which he may have passed 
by, must be shot at and marked down. 

It is therefore essential that the snipe-shooter should carry no 
extra weight. His gun should be light, and his cartridges need 


704 Snipe - Shooting. 


not hold more than an ounce of No. 12 shot; for this bird is 
easily killed, and, as it is so small, and often rises at a consider- 
able distance, it is important that as many of the leaden pellets 
as possible should be sent after it. Rubber boots reaching to the 
hip are, of course, necessary, and the clothing should be gray or 
brown in color,—inconspicuous, at all events. The places in which 
the snipe are found are often resorted to by some species of our 
ducks as well. The little pools and creeks, which are sure to be 
found in extensive snipe marshes, furnish food for the blue and 
green winged teal, the black duck, mallard, baldpate, and wood- 
duck. It will therefore be advisable for one who is about to 
visit such grounds to put in his pocket half a dozen cartridges, 
loaded with three and a half drams of powder and an ounce of No. 
8 shot; for although No. 12 may prove effective against the ducks 
at short range, it is well to be prepared for longer shots. 

As between woodcock and English snipe, the preference would 
be given with but few dissenting voices to the larger bird. Snipe- 
shooting, from the erratic movements of the bird, is something that 
cannot be depended on, while, if the conditions of weather and 
feeding- grounds are favorable, one may count with some certainty 
at the proper season on having sport with the woodcock. As 
regards delicacy of flavor, there 1s nothing to choose between the 
two. For birds so nearly related they are wonderfully unlike in 
appearance and habits, and the snipe is certainly much better able 
to take care of himself than his rusty-coated cousin. 


EGG OF WILSON'S SNIPE. 


PED SPORTS. [IN MUINNESOMA: 


Y 
By CHARLES A. ZIMMERMAN. 


HE fall of 1877 will long be remembered by the people of 

Minnesota as the time when the destructive locust took his 

farewell meal from their wheat-fields. Fields that might have 
yielded from three to five bushels of wheat per acre were not gleaned 
at all, but left to be plowed over in the fall. To such fields as these 
the wild fowl, for which the State is noted, resorted undisturbed, and 
geese, brant, cranes, and ducks fairly reveled in their bounty. 

It may well be imagined that news of this state of affairs sent 
numerous hunting parties out along the two lines of railroad that 
penetrate the afflicted region, viz., the Sioux City and St. Paul, and 
the St. Paul and Pacific roads. During the last week in September 
of that year, the writer found himself with a party of three friends ex 
route by the second-named road for a few days’ stay among the wild 
fowl in Kandiyohi County. With every possible convenience for 
camping out, the outfit comprised also a portable Bond boat, and a 
full complement of decoy-ducks, together with a dozen or more 
goose-decoys, all of our own manufacture. W , our ‘ Senior,” 
brought along his retrieving setter and constant companion, “Prince.” 
B 
donable pride his ‘‘ Royal Fan,” a dark liver-and-white pointer, the 
first-prize winner in her class at the New York Bench Show of 1877. 


, our “Junior,” from Lake City, Minnesota, exhibited with par- 


“Turk,” a dark-brown Irish water-spaniel, accompanied his master 
J——, the most tireless hunter of the party.“ Fuller” and ‘Occie,” 
a matched pair of black-and-white setters, were the property of the 
writer, and with those before mentioned comprised the dogs of the 
party. 

45 


‘ 


706 Field Sports tn Minnesota. 


A run of six hours brought us to Swede Grove, where we left 
the cars and were met by Mr. William Wilcox, a/zas “ Bill,” a well- 
to-do farmer and an ardent sportsman. His two-horse team and 
wagon furnished us transportation to his house. 

“I’m glad you've come,” said Bill, as we drove up briskly to the 
open door of his roomy dwelling; “for the sand-hill cranes have 
been goin’ for what little corn the plaguey “hoppers left standin’, 
and ’pears to me, gentlemen, with’ such guns as you have got 
along, you might make it right lively for ’em.” 

“Yes,” chimed in his wife; ‘‘you can hear them even now, gen- 
tlemen. The noise is gettin’ unbearable; and if you'll step up here 
on the porch, you can see them plain.” 

We assured her, while taking a look at the large birds, as they 
covered the field like a flock of sheep, that nothing would please us 
better than an immediate attack; but even as we debated on a plan 
of assault, the cranes, to the number of several hundred, as if they 
scented danger, took wing and with discordant cries circled about 
until they attained a certain altitude, when they left in the direction 
of Big Marsh. 

I had long desired to make the closer acquaintance of these birds, 
incited a little, too, by many a failure to stalk them. On the sly, for 
fear of being laughed at by my companions, I had brought along three 
crane-decoys, neatly cut out of card-board and painted light gray, in 
fair imitation of the sand-hill crane. Here, at once, was the oppor- 
tunity to make a test of their merit. So, leaving the rest of the party 
at a favorable moment, I took my way to the corn-field, where all was 
now quiet. The ground had been beaten hard in places by the busy 
feet of the marauding cranes, and corn-stalks lay here and there, as 
the hungry birds had wantonly tossed them. It did not take long to 
select a convenient “shock” for a ‘‘blind,” or ambush, and I returned 
to the house filled with anticipations of the coming sport. Upon the 
floor of Bill's cozy sitting-room, surrounded by his children, who 
regarded my movements with open-mouthed attention, I proceeded 
with some diffidence to unwrap the package of decoys. Presently the 
crane counterfeits stood disclosed, and a ripple of merriment went 
round the circle, ending in a perfect roar upon the entrance of my 
friends, who relentlessly joined in. 

“If you think, mister,” said one of the plow-boys, after the mer- 
riment had somewhat subsided that, ‘you can fool a crane with 


Field Sports in Minnesota. 707 


such nonsense, 
I guess you'll 
find yourself 
much mistak- 
ena Wiky, Vd 
be willin’ to 
pay you a 
dollar apiece 
for all you 
can shoot over 
them things.” .- 

“You shall 
have achance,” 
I said, some- 
what  nettled. 
“When you ride out to your plowing in the morning, come to 
my stand, and you may have an opportunity to invest your small 
change.” 

When at last it was light enough to distinguish objects about 
me, I had been at my post in the corn-field a full hour, almost 
breathless with expectation. What if the cranes should fail to 
come, and I be compelled to return to the house empty-handed 
and face my more fortunate companions, the distant report of 
whose guns had been repeatedly borne to me from the direction 


708 field Sports tn Minnesota. 


of Crow River and Wilcox Pass? Worse than this would be the | 
triumph of the knight of the plowshare. For the sixth time, cer- 
tainly, I walked off a little distance and took a survey of my ambush, 
about which the three ‘‘ base libels” were so naturally grouped as to 
give me quite a start when my eyes fell suddenly upon them. The 
smoke curled lazily upward from the farm-house chimney, and lost 
itself in a veil of mist which slowly ascended from the lake on the 
right of the house. Now, the upper edge of the cloud mist took 
on a rosy hue, due to the first warm rays of the sun, which seemed 
to be rising from an early morning bath in Wilcox Lake. The 
varying beauties of the veil of mist were duplicated by reflection 
in the still water beneath. The beauty of the scene made me 
quite forget my disappointment. 

There is considerable activity now among Bill’s barn-yard fowls, 
and I can even see his little folks scampering about the yard. A 
gentle breeze has ruffled the surface of the lake and carried away 
every trace of the fog which made the sunrise so beautiful. My 
slender decoys feel the influence of the wind, and nod in a ludicrous, 
if not most natural, manner. But in another minute I am scamp- 
ering back to my blind, for in the clear sky above Big Marsh I 
have discovered a flock of cranes winging their way in a direct 
line for this field. Stepping quickly into my blind, I grasp my 
trusty gun, and somewhat nervously await their approach. Though 
scarcely considered fast flyers, they are not long in traversing the 
intervening space, and presently are circling about over me, evidently 
scanning the ground closely. Of course, when directly overhead, 
the decoys are invisible to them, but are again clearly seen when 
they have swung off at an angle. A little more maneuvering, and 
they seem to conclude there is no enemy about, for they set their 
wings, and, with long legs awkwardly dangling in the air, come on 
slowly, preparing to alight. Almost before I am aware of it they 
are upon me,—one, indeed, so near that, were I to fire now, he 
would be fearfully mangled. The leader of the flock offers a tempt- 
ing shot at thirty-five yards; him I give the contents of my right 
barrel, and he doubles up instantly over my sight. Not wasting 
an instant, in the hope of making a “right and left,” I “cut away” 


again at the now thoroughly alarmed flock, and one more of the 
immense birds comes to the ground. Too elated with my success 


field Sports in Minnesota. 709 


A CLOSE SHOT. 


to exercise patience, or even to think of caution, I do not pause to 
reload, but, dropping my gun, run rapidly to bag. The first is found 
dead within forty yards; giving him only a glance, I pass on to the 
other, which is not less than sixty yards from the blind. The old 
fellow seems dead enough, and without much ado I stoop to pick him 
up, when he astonishes me by instantly rising to his feet, with every 
feather ruffled and his long wings beating the air. His ugly, sharp 
bill is extended, and emits a hissing noise, and altogether he is a 
very unpleasant-looking bird. For a full minute we gaze at each 
other, at least one of the two at aloss what to do next. It is becom- 
ing more and more evident to me that I do not care so much for him 
now as I did a short time ago. We are yet eying each other as | 
catch the sound of voices mingled with the confused tramp of horses, 
and feel certain that the plow-boys are approaching. Not caring to 
appear in a ridiculous light, above all others to these men, I deter- 
mined to put an end to the scene, and accordingly make a quick 
attempt to seize the crane by the neck. This he successfully dodges, 
and in a twinkling wounds me in the wrist. Altogether out of 
patience, | make a bold dart for my gun, when to my astonishment 
the irate crane gives pursuit. At this moment the farm hands come 


454 


710 field Sports in Minnesota. 


into full view, and I offer them the spectacle of the “city hunter,” as 
they are pleased to style me, running away from a crane! The rest 
of the scene must be imagined. I do not attempt a settlement with 
the tormenters, but after finishing my enemy with a vengeful charge 
at close range, return to my blind, where I have the satisfaction of 
knocking over three more cranes before the summons to breakfast 
comes booming over the stubble. 

My companions hang up in Bill’s cool cellar thirty-one mal- 
lards, mostly green-heads. My adventure with the crane is freely 
discussed over juicy crane-steak sliced from the breast, which, to- 
gether with good coffee and some of Mrs. Wilcox’s best griddle- 
cakes smothered in cream and white sugar, constituted a breakfast 
heartily enjoyed by all. After allowing me to be well teased, our 
host puts a somewhat more serious color upon the matter by assur- 
ing us that it was rather a dangerous proceeding to face a wounded 
crane, which, like the heron, always strikes for the eye. Once, to 
his knowledge, the bill penetrated through the eye of an Indian, pro- 
ducing instant death. 

Twenty-eight miles or more lie between us and Kandiyohi, 
where we intend camping, and there is no alternative but instant 
departure after breakfast. By nine o'clock we are waving our 
adieus to the Wilcox family, whose worthy head accompanies us 
as driver, friend, and companion. Our outfit, none of the smallest, 
is snugly stowed away. The day is exceedingly pleasant, and the 
entire party is in the very best of spirits. The rolling prairie road 
offers no hinderance, and we jog on at a fair pace. The neat appear- 
ance of the farm-houses and their immediate surroundings shows 
plainly the thrift of the owners, who are mostly Swedes or Norwe- 
gians. A likely looking prairie bordering a stubble causes us to tie 
up the duck retrievers, Turk and Prince, and cast off Royal Fan and 
two setters; this is done with the hope of finding a brood of grouse, 
or (as they are called in this State) prairie-chickens. 

Fan led off at a round pace and quartered her ground 
thoroughly, showing beautiful style and action with thorough 
training. B her proud owner, from his seat in the wagon, 
controlled her movements by the “call” and by the motion of the 
hand. I could not help wishing that Macdona might see her now, 
and behold in her superb action and style a confirmation of his 


field Sports in Minnesota. 711 


judgment of her on the bench. Not much behind her, in either 
pace or style, were the two black-and-white setters, as with heads 
well up they dashed over the prairie; ranging in perfect accord 
with each other, yet entirely independent, they cast furtive and 
anxious glances in Fan’s direction, evidently fearful lest she should 
secure a “point” before them or they lose an opportunity to “ back.” 

Now Fan is slackening her pace, and is investigating a narrow 


strip of corn, which from neglect has become lodged. E ’s quick 
eye has detected the presence of game by the change in Fan’s pace 
and manner. The two setters are down wind from her about forty 
yards distant, and are evidently scenting the same birds, for they 
come trotting up with their black noses high in the air, and with the 
peculiar elastic step seen only under these circumstances. Fan, in 
the meantime, proceeds with more caution, the scent becoming 
stronger; a moment or two of suspense on our part and the little 
beauty comes to a stand. We prepare to jump out, guns in hand, 
but desist as she makes a few steps in advance, every motion indica- 
ting her intense and increasing excitement. Presently, she is rigid ! 
The setters have approached within a few yards, and the instant she 
makes her final stand become rigid also, backing her point stanchly. 
The trio form a picture no sportsman could fail to regard with 
pleasure: Fan is erect, yet exhibiting the characteristic point looked 
for in her species (not much does it resemble in its intensity of action 
the vacillation of a “puppy point”); her two companions, who seem 
to have attained an unnatural length, appear to be crouching for a 
spring, their usually kind faces showing lines and wrinkles indicative 
of strong excitement. ‘Are you all ready?” is B’s question when 
we have ranged ourselves in position back of the dogs. Even as he 
speaks he makes one step forward, and a cock grouse flushes before 
him. He throws his gun quickly to his face; with the sharp report 
the bird drops into the corn, and a long stream of feathers drift 
down the wind, their number showing his perfect aim. Fan drops 
to “wing,” instantly followed by Fuller and his mate. A step for- 
ward by our party and a pair flushing before W 
opportunity for a right-and-left, which he fully improves. Still the 
dogs maintain their recumbent attitudes, though it is easy to see 


gives him an 


their growing impatience. Another pair has bit the dust in response 
to a quick double from my gun, and poor J , who seems to be 


72 Field Sports in Minnesota. 


fated, for so far not a bird has flushed to him, is becoming tired of 


the monotony of the thing. Then B and W each bring 
down another bird. When B and W each bring down 


another bird, his impatience finds vent in words: “ This is downright 
murder, gentlemen,” said he; ‘“‘you don’t give the birds half a chance. 
A man,” he added, ‘that could miss a chicken flushed in such easy 
range ought not to hunt in the company of sportsmen.” 

He had scarcely finished speaking when the old hen grouse of 
the brood whirred up under his very feet. Somewhat startled there- 
at, and before she had flown five yards, he fired all too quickly, scor- 
ing a clean miss. An exclamation escaped him at the result, and he 
at once sought her with his second barrel; his first had turned her a 
trifle from her course, and she presented now a side-shot at thirty 
yards. Any one of us could then have cut her down easily, but we 
preferred not to, and stood with guns in the position of ready, await- 
ing the result of his second. Bang! went the gun; on flew the bird. 
She was now fairly ours, and, though fifty yards away, succumbed 
instantly to the closely blended triple report from our pieces. 

Like a man, the good-natured fellow faced our music and, tak- 
ing off his hat, made us three, who stood laughing heartily, a most 
profound bow, at the same time remarking: 

“T acknowledge the corn: it is not quite so easy as it appears to 
be,” although he added, by way of retaliation, ‘I am quite certain 
even I could have stopped her ladyship with a treble dose!” 

At the word “Fetch!” the eager dogs ‘‘seek dead,” and in a 
twinkling come trotting proudly back each with a bird, on being 
relieved of which they are again sent in with a like result. Not 
much do these birds resemble the puny little ones bagged on the 
fifteenth of August, for they are full grown, hardy and strong, and 
very swift of wing. No. 7 shot, backed by a good charge of pow- 
der, has done the work. September grouse seldom lie so close as 
did this brood, every one of which lay safely bagged before us. 

The three dogs, having had barely a taste of sport, show much 
unwillingness to take up again their position back of the wagon; but 
it is now the duck retrievers’ turn, for we are about to enter a 
section of country thickly interspersed with small lakes or ponds, 
here called sloughs (pronounced s/ews). Turk and Prince, having 
work before them, are set free, and soon testify their appreciation 


Field Sports in Minnesota. Ts 


A SIDE SHOT. 


by eccentric gambols. The two setters and Fan would delight in 
retrieving ducks, but are not very often indulged; the example of 
the average ‘duck dog,” as he dashes in at the crack of the gun, 
is apt to have a demoralizing effect upon the steadiest of pointers 
and setters, and they are tempted to “break shot” at all times, 
which would be disastrous on almost any game other than ducks. 
Mallards, widgeons, and sprig-tails delight in those small grassy 
ponds, which are generally thickly grown with wild rice, reeds, and 
rushes. A musk-rat house here and there furnishes sunning oppor- 
tunities, and also enables them to mount guard. While Bill is secur- 
ing his team to a convenient fence, we are planning an assault on 
one of these sloughs, which the little prairie-knoll ahead of us hides 
from our view. We employ the usual tactics, by surrounding it, 
each one approaching it from a different direction in deep silence, 
though we are not able from the shore to discover a feather. When 
every one is posted in as good cover as possible, Bill, according to 
previous arrangement, fires a random shot from his * pin-fire” over 


714 field Sports tn Minnesota. 


the water. In an instant, with a quacking and a terrible fluttering, 
the well-concealed ducks spring into the air, and make a break in 
the direction of one of the large lakes. This will bring them over 
J 
of his gun points upward from the clump of reeds in which he is con- 
cealed, and two birds topple 
over almost before the double 


, and I watch them nearing the fatal stand. Now the barrel 


report of his piece has drifted 
across the puddle. This re- 
ception has startled the flock, 
and in considerable disorder 
they turn only to be met by a 


similar reception from W 
Again are they repulsed and 
seek a new direction, which 
brings them over my stand, 
ies but such a height have they 
Ny Ree all bo alee attained that only one drops 
= wi SNe dead to my gun. But Bill is 


the champion, for he stops 
three ducks with one barrel of 
his gun, having had time to exchange his finer shot for “No, 
1,” which tells with good effect at such long range. B alone 
has not soiled his gun, but by working the dogs has succeeded in 
bagging most of the ducks killed. Fuller and Occie are sent over 
the hill after those knocked down by Wilcox, and we are once more 
on our way. 

To me there is not much real sport in this style of shooting, 
though the game is large and fine; it lacks the excitement of the 
“pass” shooting, and many birds are lost by falling into the matted 
reeds and grass, where the dogs have great trouble finding them; 
the incessant popping of the guns also has a tendency to divert their 
attention from the careful search necessary to find skulking wounded 
ducks. These sloughs or ponds occur very frequently upon the St. 
Paul and Pacific and Sioux City and St. Paul railroads, and under 
proper guidance a party of four or five will take heavy tribute from 
each as they go along. For this kind of shooting, a Bond boat offers 
superior advantages: composed of sheet-iron sides and a wooden 


BONDED GOODS IN TRANSIT, 


Field: Sports in Minnesota. 715 


IN WET WEATHER. 


bottom, it is made in two water-tight compartments, besides an air- 
chamber, to prevent sinking in case of an upset; it is of trifling 
weight, and easily transported. Two sportsmen, by each shoulder- 
ing one-half of the boat, can make portage after portage, shooting 
out one pond and then carrying to another, no great distance ever 
intervening. These boats in transit upon a hunter’s back have a 
most ludicrous aspect, and dull indeed must be he who cannot 
extract much humor out of the novel spectacle. Should a rain- 
storm arise, one of the compartments of the boat set up on end 
makes a very good shelter. The inadvertent kicking away of the 
supporting paddle to your novel roof will certainly justify the laugh 
sure to be indulged in by your more careful companion; but, unlike 
the turtle which you so closely resemble as you look out from under 
your temporary shell, you caz crawl out of it. 

It was quite late, with frequent stopping on our route from one 
cause or another, when our destination was reached. We were well 
used to camping-out, and our tent was very soon in position and in 
readiness for the straw bedding hauled from a neighboring: stack. 
This was at once stuffed into a wide, empty tick, brought along for 


716 field Sports tn Minnesota. 


that purpose, and we had a bed fit for a king, and one on which no 
tired hunter can long remain awake. 

A coach candle in an improvised socket, fastened to the inside of 
the tent-pole, sufficiently illuminated the interior, and enabled us to 
get in readiness for the morning’s work. ‘Chicken shells” were 
taken out, and suitable ones for duck-shooting substituted; no one 
forgetting to place a few loaded with “dbl. B” shot in a certain 
pocket of the Holabird shooting-coat; these last for a stray goose 
or two which has been known to fly over this pass more than once, 
in the memory of our mess. 

Such an inviting bed as we had before us could not long remain 
untried, and one by one our party turned in. The full moon flooded 
our tent with a subdued light and brightly illuminated our surround- 
ings. Through the tent-openings could be seen one arm of Little 
Kandiyohi and the two peninsulas, joined by a rickety bridge of 
hewn timber, which formed this well-known pass, and over which 
we are to have a “flight” in the morning twilight. 

I am quite certain that I have not been unconscious for more 
than fifteen minutes, when I am rudely awakened by a severe thump 
in the side, which I am half inclined to return with interest, until | 
see that my friends are up and dressed. The candle is burning, 
and a bright fire roars and crackles in the stove, diffusing an agree- 
able warmth throughout the tent. 

All of us are decidedly sleepy, and we should perhaps be still in 
bed, were our inclinations strictly followed, and we show less impa- 
tience to face the keen morning air than do our dogs, whom Bill has 
set free on his way to feed the team. The moon has long since dis- 
appeared, and inky darkness has succeeded, and we feel our way 
along as we go down to our stands upon the peninsula. The air, 
for a September morning, is quite chilly, and in spite of the cup of 
hot coffee and plenty of wrappings, I am soon all of a tremble, and 
cannot help contrasting this with the warm and cozy bed out of 
which we had lately crept. I feel much pity for my two faithful 
dogs, who are lying crouched at my feet, impatient for the word to 
plunge into the dark and chilly current for a duck. Some are 
already passing over, as we know by the sound of wings swiftly 
cutting the air. By rubbing the phosphorus of a match, the dial of 
my watch is rendered visible, and it is some satisfaction to know that 


Field Sports in Minnesota. Tey, 


A COLD MORNING. 


it is nearly five oclock and dawn is at hand. In a few minutes we 
shall be able to discern objects overhead, and by exercising skill and 
judgment, or “bull-head luck,” as an old veteran of the pass calls it, 
a little execution may be done. 

I now proceed to take off my gloves and my “ gum coat,” which 
had been donned for warmth, and to fill the pockets of my ‘ Hola- 
bird” with shells, which are in this instance loaded with five drams 
of Dupont’s ducking powder, and one and a quarter ounces of 
No. 6 shot, for the early flight. Shells loaded with Nos. 4 and 5 
shot are used later in the day, when the ducks begin to “climb” 
as they cross. The icy-cold gun-barrels strike a chill to my 
bare hands, but my pulse has gained a number of beats in the 
last few minutes, a pleasant thrill of excitement pervades me, and | 
am fast warming up to the work. Standing in a regular skirmish 
line, about thirty yards apart, in the position of “ready,” with guns 
in hand, and both the hammers raised, we strain our eyes to catch a 
glimpse of the game that is streaming over, but the veil of darkness 
prevents our seeing. Who will draw first blood? More than once 
have our guns been quickly thrown to our faces and our fingers 
rested on the triggers, but none of us has acquired the art of shoot- 
in& “by ear,” and slowly and reluctantly we lower them again. But 


718 field Sports in Minnesota. 


now from our junior’s stand a blinding flash shoots up into the air at 
an acute angle, accompanied by a deafening crash, which rolls like a 
burst of thunder along the surface of the lake, until it is echoed back 
by the heavy belt of timber in a faint but perfect imitation. The 
sound that interests us most, however, is the plunge of the retrievers 
into the lake and the splashing in front of my friend’s blind as one 
or more victims flutter upon the surface of the water. 

A bunch of four or five swiftly moving, shadowy objects now 
draw my fire, and before the echo of my double shot has fairly 
and W have each made their first shots of the 
morning, and with good effect. Prince is now climbing the bank 


died away, J 


close by with a fine drake canvas-back, one of the two killed by 
the first gun of the morning. My two setters are swimming a 
race neck and neck for first choice on a pair that fell to my fire. 
As for Turk, he is absolutely diving for a wounded duck which 
has so far managed to elude his gaping jaws. At each fresh 
failure to secure it, Turk gives a yelp of rage, but finally manages 
to seize the duck by one wing and makes for the shore. The 
slight hold he has obtained allows the duck to flutter vigorously, 
filling its captor’s eyes with water, much to his disgust. 

But the sport in the air eclipses in interest that in the lake, 
and at W 
his blind, out of sight of an approaching flock of red-heads. They 
come on, unconscious of impending trouble, not over two yards 
above the surface of the water. Their first hint of danger is taken 


’s sharp ‘“‘ Mark! east!!” every one goes down behind 


from seeing the dogs, which are swimming for shore, and they 
make an extraordinary effort to mount high in the air. This gives 
us a splendid opportunity, for from our point of sight they appear 
to stand still, and a volley at this instant gives the dogs more 
work to do. Our second barrels are put in with telling effect, 
and the badly demoralized flock now presents a far different appear- 
ance from that of a few moments before. The Bond boat is now 
used to recover the birds that fell on the west side of the penin- 
sula, and that would drift away before the dogs could attend to 
them. 

A momentary lull in the flight gives an opportunity to look 
about us and count our spoils. My friends have seventeen ducks 
between them, while my own string shows six—three canvas-backs, 


Field Sports in Minnesota. 719 


THE BRIDGE STAND. 


all drakes but one, two red-heads, and a widgeon—not very bad 
luck, certainly, and the flight is not half over. 

The canvas-backs are handled with a degree of satisfaction that 
even the green-head and more gaudy mallard fail to inspire. To 
use the words of the lamented ‘‘ Frank Forrester”: ‘‘ This is the 
royalty of ducks. No other water-fowl to him is equal, or second, 
or in any way comparable.” While it is not unusual for a novice 
to mistake the red-head for the canvas-back, which it is true they 
resemble, the difference is yet quite marked. The attention once 
carefully drawn to the head of the latter, no red-head can ever again 
be mistaken for it. Aside from the color of the bill, which in the 
case of the latter is light blue and in the other black, the length 
and shape of both head and bill differ greatly, 

Suddenly we hear the steady honking of an approaching flock 
of wild geese, which have left Kandiyohi Lake, and are flying 
up the narrows toward us on their way to the fields. A _bird’s- 
eye view of our party at this moment would have been most 
amusing, for every one of us seemed struck with a sudden and 
ardent desire to lay hands on something, and that ina most incredibly 


720 field Sports in Minnesota. 


short space of time. Each of us had one or more shells for just 
such an emergency as the present. To find and substitute these 
shells quickly, and without alarming the rapidly approaching geese, 
is the occasion of our frantic efforts. Those of us who had started 
out that cool morning enveloped in at least three coats apiece, and 
had laid them aside from time to time in as many different places, 
were in trouble indeed. W had left his goose ammunition in 
his shell-pouch by the blind, but having walked away a few rods 
while his dog was pilfering my ducks, he was now making for 
the coveted shells on all fours, so as not to be visible, with a 
celerity that would have astonished the many friends of this usually 


dignified gentleman. 

Three of the huge birds are now heading for my blind, and 
the rest of the flock veer off in the direction of my comrades. 
My two expectant setters are already crouching for a spring, 
when the shell, which I have with some difficulty found, and 
which I am placing with some nervous trepidation into the 
opened breech of my gun, begins to stick; in the haste and 
excitement, I bear hard upon it, 
but it does not budge a particle. 
I then attempt to extract the 
shell; but no, it sticks as if it 
had always been there. Though 
I struggle like a madman in my 
efforts to dislodge it, I can make 
no impression, and have the 
mortification of beholding the 
geese sail over a rod or two 
above me, near enough, in fact, 
to have used even my No. 6 
shot with deadly effect. “Bang! 
bang!” comes a volley from my 
right, and two of the “old honk- 
ers” tumble headlong into the 
lake, displacing at least a barrel of 
water as they strike the surface. 

The main flight having passed 
Se eee over, and out of which we 


Field Sports in Minnesota. 721 


have taken fair toll, we are 2 : 
favored with more “singles” =a 
than flocks; the shooting is 
consequently more interesting, 
because more difficult. Clean 
misses at these  swift-flying 


birds are frequent. It seems 
at times next to an impossibility 
to swing the gun rapidly enough 
to cover and avoid shooting 
behind. Shooting into flocks 
“for general results,” without 
singling out a bird, may be 
excusable in a Sunday “ pot- 
hunter,” or in a novice anxious 
to give a new Scott, Purdy, or 
Parker a good airing; but in a 
true sportsman—never. High 
or long shots should seldom be 
attempted here, as misses be- 
yond fifty or sixty yards are 
common, and scores of birds are 
struck whose wounds prove 
fatal only after long suffering. 
Side shots are most deadly; but proper allowance must be made 
for distance and speed of flight. Opportunities for double shots 
occur continually, and to make them it is often necessary to use the 
first barrel of the gun on an incoming bird, and the second will 
then, in all probability, be aside or quartering shot. 

To stop an ‘‘incomer,” raise the gun carefully in the line of his 
flight; move quickly ahead of the duck, when you judge him to be 
in range; and, when you lose sight of head and bill over your gun, 
pull instantly. The flight of a duck is ordinarily at the rate of about 
sixty miles an hour; but when accelerated by fear, or a brisk wind, 


STOPPING AN INCOMER,. 


or both, it is nearly double, and must be experimented upon to be 
fully appreciated. To become a good “pass shot,” some of the 
requisites are: to be able to judge distances quickly and accurately; 
to be able to cover well the moving bird, and not to check the motion 


46 


722 Field Sports in Minnesota. 


of the gun at the moment of discharge. Most sportsmen flinch 
at that supreme moment, and unless the habit is entirely overcome, 
they cannot expect ever to become good wing shots. The ‘choke- 
boring” of guns, in limited use long ago, has only very recently 
come into favor and rather more general use. Upon the pass or 
elsewhere, it adds at least one- 
fourth more distance to the kill- 
ing range of the gun. This is 
done by the effect it has upon 
the “pattern” made by the shot, 
causing the gun to throw a 
greater number of shot pellets 
into a given circle than can be 
done by the cylinder or straight 
bore. One barrel of the duck- 
hunter's gun should surely be 
bored in this way. 

Kandiyohi was once famous 
for its black-duck flights; but of late they seem to have abandoned 
it, and more mallards, red-heads, and canvas-backs are found here. 
Vallisneria, often miscalled wild celery (I say miscalled, because it 
bears no resemblance in taste to the common celery), is beginning 
to grow thickly in places, in addition to the wild rice, and may 
account for this fact. 

It was in this vicinity that the pair of canvas-backs were killed 
by that veteran sportsman, General H. H. Sibley,—well known to 
the readers of the old “ Spirit of the Times” under the zom de plume 
of ‘“Hal-a-Dakotah,"—and by him sent to his friend ‘“ Frank 
Forrester,” thereby settling a controversy between the two gentle- 


GOOSE-DECOYS. 


men, and proving conclusively —what Forrester had before denied 
—that the true Val/isneria is found away from the sea-coast. 

To have anything like sport in the pursuit of the common wild 
goose (Bernicla Canadensis), the ordinary methods of hunting 
water-fowl hardly answer here; besides, the lakes they frequent are 
not large enough to justify the use of the bay-shooting tactics from 
sink-boats, and from blinds near the water. These birds are exceed- 
ingly wary when upon the fields, and are very seldom bagged by 
stalking. In their watchfulness they have but one rival, and he an 


Field Sports in Minnesota. 723 


i 


me wl 
(4) ty Niet 


Nya 
t 
1 4 


\ Wank aah 
YA) WEA rN 


GOOSE-SHOOTING FROM STUBBLE, 


effective ally, in the sand-hill crane, which often feeds in their midst, 
thus adding to the difficulty of approach within effective range. The 
difficult problem of their successful capture was at last solved for us 
by Colonel Sam ‘Doughty, of Lake City, Minn., who introduced 
shooting over decoys from pits dug in the stubble or new breaking, 
where it has been ascertained geese are in the habit of feeding. The 
decoys are of the simplest construction and greatest portability, being 
merely flat forms in good outline painted in imitation of the wild 
goose; these, when seen at right angles to their flat surfaces, at 
ordinary shot-gun range and beyond, are well calculated to deceive 
not alone his gooseship but even amateur sportsmen.* 

Two flights a day are made by the geese from the large lakes in 
search of food; one taking place at daybreak in the morning and 
lasting perhaps an hour, and the other at four o’clock in the after- 
noon, occupying about the same length of time. On these flights 
they are often accompanied by the snow-goose (Axser hyperboreus ) 
and the white-fronted goose (A user Gambeliz), which are here called 
respectively white and black brant, though they do not much 


* Ex-Governor A will never forget how natural was the look of Major C s 


decoys on that memorable day near Kirkhoven, when, after crawling a long distance, 


he emptied his gun in riddling them. They had been left after the early morning flight 


by their owner, who witnessed the incident from afar. 


724 Field Sports in Minnesota. 


WILD GEESE. 

HUTCHINS'S GOOSE — 
CANADA GOOSE — 
WHITE-FRONTED OR 
LAUGHING GOOSE — 
SNOW GOOSE. 


resemble the true brant of the sea-coast (Branta hemida ),* which 
may be found occasionally in the midst of flocks of the other kinds, 
yet are by no means common. 

From about the latitude of Kandiyohi County to the Red River 
of the north, the different species of the wild goose hold high revel 
and, upon the approach of the cold weather, may be seen in count- 
less thousands massing for the southern flight. An early morning 
drive along the wheat-fields which they frequent will disclose them 
feeding either upon stubble or breaking. They must be allowed to 
depart not only unmolested, but of their own accord, when an exam- 
ination of the feeding-ground is carefully made, and the pits may 
then at once be sunk. If there are two shooters, as many pits are 
necessary, and they are best circular in form, about thirty inches in 
diameter and forty inches in depth. The earth of the excavation 
may be partially utilized in constructing a slight embankment around 
the edges of the pit. The surface of the soil about the pit-openings 
must be manipulated until it accords in appearance with the natural 
surroundings. The pits may be near enough to permit of a whis- 
pered conversation between the occupants when the game is ap- 


* Branta bernicla (Linn.) on the Pacific coast is the variety #égricans. 


Field Sports in Minnesota. ie 


proaching. The decoys, to the number of a dozen or more, being 
flat, must be placed at such angles that when viewed from any point 
of the compass a few apparently solid geese are seen. 

In the air, with no intervening object to correct the eye, geese 
appear very large, and consequently nearer than they actually are, 
and one is exposed to the temptation of firing too soon; therefore, 
the hole should be “worked” by a veteran at the business, who will 
command “ Fire!” in due time. 

, an old hand at this 


Under the guidance of our junior, B 
kind of work, our party bagged, in four times ‘‘setting” out, twenty- 
one Canada, four white-fronted and three snow geese. 

The decoy-ducks were put to good use in the lakes about our 
camp, and as the best of decoy shooting begins here after eight 
o'clock in the morning, and ends near three in the afternoon, no time 
is lost that could be better employed on the pass or on the stubble. 
There is a satisfaction in shooting over decoys that is not found in 
any other style of shooting, since by the exercise of judgment in 
placing the decoys and boat, the ducks may be forced to present 
whatever kind of shots you most desire. 

Our bag for the week’s trip was: Geese, thirty-one; cranes, 
five; pinnated grouse, fourteen; canvas-backs, seventeen ; mallards 
and other ducks, one hundred and ten; Wilson’s snipe and golden 
plover, twenty-eight. 


CANVAS = BACK VAINGDy AER Aerie 


By W. MACKAY LAFFAN. 


HE Chesapeake has conferred upon Baltimore the title of the 

“gastronomic capital” of the country. The fish, the game, 

and the reptiles of its generous waters, and the traditions of 
the Maryland kitchen, have made Baltimore a Mecca toward which 
the eyes of all American éon-vivants are turned with a veneration 
that dyspepsia cannot impair. Places have their dishes and exult in 
them. New England points with pride to an unsullied record of 
pumpkin-pies. New Orleans has its pompano, and boasts it much 
as Greenwich does its white-bait. In San Francisco, you win the 
confidence of the Californian by praising his little coppery oysters 
and saying that they remind you of ‘‘Ostend pennorths” or Dublin’s 
Burton-Bindins, and that, after all, the true taste of the “natives” is 
only acquired in waters where there is an excess of copper in sus- 
pension. At Norfolk, the sacred dish that is offered upon the altar 
of hospitality is the hog-fish. The modest New Yorker, in the 
acerbity of the lenten season, asks his foreign friend if he ever saw 
anything like “our shad.” In Albany, you partake of “beef” sliced 
from a Hudson River sturgeon,—a fish of which cutlets from the 
shoulders are served in San Francisco to excellent purpose as //e¢s 
de sole. Chicago has been heard to speak of white-fish. In Cal- 
cutta one inwardly consumes with curry. Bird’s-nest soup, made 
from the gelatinous and insipid secretion of the sea-swallow, is the 
dish of honor at Shanghai. But Baltimore rests not its reputation 
upon the precarious tenure of a single dish; it sits in complacent 
contemplation of the unrivaled variety of its local market and calmly 
forbids comparison. While the Chesapeake continues to give it its 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 727 


terrapins, its canvas-backs, its oysters and its fish, this may be done 
with safety ; and among the pleasantest recollections that a stranger 
may have shall be those of a Maryland kitchen in the “season.” 
Visitors from the mother-country seldom overlook it, and they have 


AT THE CLUB IN COLONIAL DAYS. 


recorded their sentiments ever since the old colonial days. In these 
days of rapid transit, it were strange if our transatlantic cousins did 
not know more about it; and Liverpool receives many a crate of 
canvas-backs, many a barrel of choice oysters, and many a can of 
terrapin, cunningly packed in Baltimore. There have recently been 
dinners given in London and Paris at which every article of food 
upon the table came from America. 

The shores within reach of Baltimore are of considerable extent 
and are for the most part owned by wealthy citizens. In winter 
they are known as “ducking-shores,” in summer as “fishing-shores.” 
Some are leased to ‘ clubs,” just as trout and salmon rivers are in 
England and Scotland and Norway, but a majority are private prop- 
erty and are carefully guarded. The ducks of the Chesapeake are 
the same birds that are seen in Hudson’s Bay and on the northern 


728 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


lakes. They follow the edge of the winter along the Atlantic coast, 
and the water they prefer to feed in is that in which ice is about to 
form or from which it has just disappeared. Nowhere are they so 
___—_—-——., good for the table as in the Chesapeake. Elsewhere 
they are tough or fishy; but the great vegetable beds 
of its shallows, and the quantity of wild celery that 
they contain, impart to their flesh its greatest delicacy 
and best flavor. In the matter of variety, they are 
known as canvas-backs, red-heads, bald-pates, black- 
heads and mallards. There are numbers of smaller 


DIVING FOR CEL- 
cL ducks with arbitrary names depending apparently 

very much upon the locality and its peculiar ornithological bent. In 
) I y I 8 

the way of larger birds there are swans and geese. Their numbers 

are inconceivable, but they are very wild and hard to approach. 

Both, for the table, are as fine in their way as any game bird that flies. 

There are various ways of shooting 


the ducks of the Chesapeake and its 
broad affluent, the Susquehanna. Gen- 


tlemen for the most part shoot from 
“blinds” and use decoys; while mar- 
ket gunners use the ‘sink-boat” or 
the “night sreflector, =) *;Blinds <vare 
any sort of artificial concealment placed at an advantageous point 
upon the shore. They generally consist of a seat in a sort of box, 
or shelter, some four feet deep, and capable of containing three or 
four persons and a couple of dogs. They are thoroughly covered 


DIVING FOR CELERY.—II. 


up with pine branches and young pine-trees and communicate with 
the shore by a path similarly sheltered. The water in front is com- 
paratively shallow, and, if it contain beds of wild celery on the 
bottom, is sure to be a feeding-ground for the ducks. About thirty 
yards from the “blind” are anchored a fleet of perhaps a hundred 
and fifty decoys. They are wooden ducks roughly carved and 
painted, but devised with a strict regard for variety and sex. Ata 
little distance they are calculated to deceive any eye, and they cer- 
tainly have a great deal of weight in determining the action of a 
passing flock, or ‘‘bunch,” of ducks. The sink-boat is in reality a 
floating blind. It is nothing more than an anchored box, or coffin, 
with hinged flaps to keep the water from invading it. The gunner 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 729 


THE NEFARIOUS POT-HUNTER. 


lies on his back in it, completely out of sight, and around it are 
placed the decoys. It is extremely tiresome work, but very destruc- 
tive to the birds. They float down the stream when shot and are 
picked up from a boat stationed below. It is a wholesale murdering 
sort of thing and has little ‘‘sport” about it. The “night reflector” 
is quite as bad. It consists of a large reflector behind a common 
naphtha lamp and mounted upon the bow of a boat. The latter is 
rowed out into the stream, where the ducks are “bedded” for the 
night, and the birds, fascinated by the light, swim to it from every 
-side and bob against the boat in helpless confusion. The number 
of birds secured depends only on the caliber of the gun. From 
twenty to thirty ducks to each shot fired is a common experience. 
The hunter who uses one of these reflectors may succeed in getting 
into half a dozen “beds” in a night. Another thing he sometimes 
succeeds in is getting a charge of shot in his body from some indig- 
nant sportsman on shore. If a rifle is handy and any one chances 
to be up and about at the hour, no hesitation is felt at having 


y 
ran) 


a 
crack at the “ pot-hunter’s” nefarious light. 
Accepting an invitation for a day’s duck-shooting at B.’s gave 


730 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


OUR QUARTERS. 


me a personal experience of one of the best “shores” in Maryland. 
Seated in a good, serviceable wagon, our party of ‘three left Balti- 
more in the afternoon, and a brisk trot of two hours and a half 
over roads for the most part in excellent condition brought us to 
the ducking-shore on Bush River. The last mile or so was through 
the ‘‘woods” over a comparatively new road with water on each side 
of it, the surrounding ground being evidently in a marshy condition. 
The undergrowth was very thick and young, as if it were taking the 
place of a forest recently destroyed by fire. There were, however, 
plenty of tall gum-trees, chestnuts, and pines, and it was, as B. enthu- 
siastically described it, while pointing to the track of an animal in 
the road, a splendid spot for ’coons and ‘possums. We drew out 
shortly into a clearing, on the other side of which was a house and 
some out-buildings, the only habitation in sight or within a consider- 
able distance. The barking of innumerable dogs welcomed our 
‘approach, and as we pulled up in front of the door, the river, about. 
four hundred yards in width, came into view just in the rear. It 
was evidently the establishment of a plain, comfortable farmer, whose 
guardianship of the ducking and fishing doubtless greatly diminished 
the annual rental to the owner. Our ‘‘traps” were soon inside and 
the horses stabled. We had one large room containing six small 
and well-kept beds, and at one end a capacious fire-place, on which 
a great pile of hickory logs was burning and diffusing a genial glow 
and the not disagreeable odor of a wood fire. On the ceiling were 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. Fig 


fishing-rods, nets, and tackle of every description; while around the 
walls were gun-racks, clothing, and hunting paraphernalia in profu- 
sion. At seven o'clock, a substantial and well-cooked dinner or sup- 
per was served in the adjoining kitchen, to which our farmer sat 
down with us. The conversation related chiefly to some recent inci- 
dents of ’coon-hunting, and a discussion as to the probable direction 
of the wind in the morning. Apprehensions of a north-west wind 
were expressed, but the general idea was that it would blow up from 
the south-west with snow or rain, in which case the ducks would be 
plentiful. After half an hour spent in selecting guns, filling cartridge- 
belts and satchels, and in other preparations, we turned in at nine 
o'clock, and, although the hour was somewhat unusual to me, I slept 
soundly. At three o'clock, our farmer came in and called us and lit 
the lamp. Breakfast—beefsteak, rashers of bacon, eggs, and coffee 
—was already sputtering and crackling in the kitchen. A hasty 
dowse of water with an eighth of an inch of ice on its surface, and 
a liberal “nip” of whisky,—the latter insisted upon for sanitary 
reasons of obscure origin but evidently great weight,—and we sat 
down. Either there was something in the air or the spirits were at 
the bottom of it, but at any rate the heavy supper of the previous 
evening seemed entirely forgotten, and the quantity of breakfast 


consumed was amazing. We were out in the sharp, frosty air and 


ROWING DOWN TO THE BLIND, 4.30 A. M. 


bright moonlight at a quarter to four o'clock, excellently fortified 
to meet the demands of the day and the rigor of the weather. 

It was but a few yards from the house to the water, and we had 
a row of a mile and a half to the “blind.” We got into a good, 
steady, flat-bottomed boat, in which two dogs, whom no one had 


722 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


BLIND AT BIDDISON’S POINT, ON MIDDLE RIVER. 


called, took their places in per- 
functory and solemn fashion, and 
we shoved off, while about a doz- 
en hounds and yard-dogs howled 
a muffled and anxious adieu from the bank. 


The moon hung low near the tree-tops, the 
river was dark, and its outlines black and 
mysterious. About a quarter of an inch of 
ice had formed, and as we crashed steadily 
through it, odd and fantastic echoes came from the 
gloomy and silent shores. As we reached the broader 
water nearer the mouth of the creek the ice disappeared, 
but the surface was calm and nowhere gave back a reflection of the 
moon. M. was in the bow and I in the stern, our host, B., rowing 
‘in the middle. Suddenly he stopped, seized his gun and loaded it. 
M. did the same; I was too mystified to understand the proceeding, 
and was content to wonder and look on, peering around in the gloom 
to find the occasion, and seeing nothing but the impenetrable shad- 
ows and the undefined depths of the dark shore. 

“Hist!” said B. ‘There is where they are,” and taking his 
gun between his knees, he pulled a few strong, quiet strokes again. 
In a moment there was a most astonishing and startling noise, and I 
saw, about five hundred yards to the right, a long line of bright 
silver break upon the water. Thousands of ducks that had made a 
great “bed” in the creek during the night had been startled and 
were taking wing simultaneously, and the noise made by their 
splashing as they rose was tremendous. Presently, as the last duck 


i ees 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. We 


lifted into the air, it ceased, and all was as silent as before. Nota 
duck could be seen; but my two friends had their guns cocked and 
were apparently listening intently. In a minute I heard a curious, 
whistling sound. It grew louder and seemed to approach, but I 
could see nothing whatever. As I looked, both my companions 
brought up their guns and fired both barrels almost simultaneously 
overhead. 

“Hush!” said B. ‘Listen carefully. Mark one! Mark two! 
Mark three !” 

I heard the splashes, and as the birds, falling, broke the water, 
it faintly caught up the moonlight, and we could see three ducks 
struggling not one hundred yards off; at the same moment both 
dogs, without an order from any one, disappeared overboard. 

“How did you know where to fire ?” I asked. 

«You are not used to it yet,” replied B.  “ When you are, you'll 
see ducks easily enough on the darkest night.” 

The ducks, on rising, had wheeled around, making a semicircle 
of half a mile, and, as my friends’ experience led them to expect, had 
come directly down the river. There were thousands of them in the 
air, and the whistling sound was made by their wings. In the 
meantime, both dogs came up to the side to be taken in. Each had 
a red-head in his mouth; the third bird having died, could not be 
detected in the darkness, and was abandoned. 

A further pull of some ten minutes brought us to the blind, 
inside of which we found Joe, the darkey who had put out the 
decoys during the night. He was fast asleep in the straw, though 
the thermometer was below freezing-point. He took our boat and 
rowed it away out of sight around the nearest point, and then return-. 
ing, lay down by the dogs and went to sleep again. We seated 
ourselves to wait for day-break and ducks, and I endeavored to per- 
suade myself that I was not cold. My companions spoke in hushed 
ecstasy of the south-west wind that blew up the river as the moon 
went down. It struck meas the coldest wind I had ever known, and 
I drew my hands up my sleeves and made a manful effort to keep my 
teeth from chattering. A gray light stole across the eastern sky, 
and I began to see the cavards riding at anchor in front of our blind. 
I was undeniably cold, and it was all I could do to keep from confess- 
ing to myself that I felt miserable. Besides, my companions had 


734 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


OVER THE DECOYS. 


been whispering dismal experiences of whole days in blinds without 
a solitary shot, and I began to despise the whole business. The 
blind became a dry-goods box in a bush, and the decoys an unblush- 
ing and unworthy device, and I could have readily proclaimed the 
whole thing unsportsmanlike and disgraceful, had there been a spark 
of encouragement in the demeanor of even sleepy Joe. The gray 
light grew brighter, and a blue, hazy “‘smoke” seemed to creep up 
the river as day dawned over the cold water. Presently, we heard 
a shrilly, feeble whistle, precisely such as the young puddle-duck of 
the barn-yard makes in his earliest vocal efforts. ‘“ Bald-pates |” 
said B.; and overhead, far out of reach, we saw four ducks. 
“There'll be lots of them now,” said B. ‘They are coming up the 
river before the wind. H’sh! mark, mark, now quiet everybody !” 
Right out of the blue smoke, coming directly toward our blind, came 
not less than two hundred black-heads. On they came, straight 
toward the decoys. Within a hundred yards of our noses, the leader 
swerved, and out they all went, not one coming within gunshot. 
Before I could give way to my disappointment, B. gave his warning 
again. ‘Mark, mark, a bunch of canvas-backs!” and from the 
same direction, flying within a foot or two of the water, came some 
twenty ducks. They saw the decoy flock, turned in, and in a moment 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 735 


more were hovering within a few inches of the wooden heads. All 
three stood up, and as the ducks hung fluttering, six barrels were 
poured into them, and one, two, four, six, eight, and another—no— 
yes—no—yes—wxznze ducks tumbled into the water, and splashed 
and floundered around in their death agonies. While it would be 
impossible for me to swear that I had hit one, I had an abiding con- 
sciousness that at least four of the birds were mine, and I became 


wholly oblivious of the temperature. ‘‘ Mark again!” said the keen- 
sighted and watchful B. ‘Mark single duck coming right in. 


Now, sir, take him, he’s your first choice! Now, sir! * * * Good, 
sir, by gracious!” I had tumbled that single duck over like a pro- 
fessor. To say that I was delighted will not do. I was excited; I 
was wild, and I began to mark invisible ducks myself. ‘Good 
Sport?) said B. “Gorgeous!” said I. .“* Yes,” said -B.,. “it: gener- 
ally drives a man crazy, the first day of good shooting he gets, and 
then we have to take him up here in the woods and tie him to a tree 
till he calms down, and is fit to be allowed back in the blind.” I did 
not think I was so excited, but I soothed myself. But by this time 
it was almost sunrise, and we could see ducks coming up the river 
in countless numbers. Presently, a large flock left the middle of the 
stream and swept out about half a mile below into a broad bay. At 
first, it seemed as if they would “bed” there, but they turned and 
headed for the blind. We crouched low, and scarcely dared to 
breathe lest they should swerve out into the stream again. On they 
came like a whirlwind, and were fluttering and splashing on the 
decoys as we rose and fired six barrels into the thickest part of them. 
Not less than twenty canvas-backs and red-heads fell, and, as some, 
only disabled, tried to swim away, a few more shots made sure of them. 

‘“Mark, gemmen, mark!” said Joe, holding down the dogs, and 
“whir” came a flock of bald-pates right over us from behind. B., 
who shoots from his left shoulder, had his gun up in an instant and 
fired both barrels overhead, and two large, heavy birds fell wounded 
outside the line of the decoys. Neither M. nor myself had been 
quick enough. ‘ Now, Joe, said B., “out with you; quick!” Joe 
let go the dogs and dived under the blind, and in a moment more was 
paddling out and picking up duck after duck with his little canoe. 
Here came in the office of the dogs, whose wonderful instinct and 
training and perfect experience constitute one of the most astonish- 


736 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


JOE. 


ing examples of animal intelligence that one may see. They were 
not, in appearance, dogs that would attract any special attention. 
They belonged to the breed known as Chesapeake duck-dogs, and 
they certainly showed that retrieving ducks was their vocation. 
They went out straight through some thirty birds, in and around the 
decoys, toward the two bald-pates, which, only slightly disabled, 
were swimming rapidly away. Each dog selected his bird and went 
for it steadily. As the dog drew near, down went the duck. The 
dog stopped, and, as it were, stood up in the water, turning slowly 
around in a circle looking for the duck to re-appear. The moment it 
came up he went for it again. This time he got nearer. The same 
thing was repeated, the dog each time waiting patiently for the 
duck’s re-appearance, and each time getting nearer and nearer to it. 
Finally, with a sudden dash and a partial dive, each dog seized his 
duck, and turning, swam to shore with it. They would not trouble 
themselves with the ducks that Joe could secure, but selected those 
that required their particular attention, swimming after each not less 
than a quarter of a mile. When a shot is fired and a duck falls, a 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. Tai 


dog trained as these were will. unless forbidden, leave the blind im- 
mediately and secure the bird. If no duck falls the dog lies down 
again, invariably using his own judgment as to the result of the shot. 
He will never stir without express orders, if he thinks the shot has been 
ineffectual. The breed is peculiar to these waters. It is adapted to 
the cold water, and has been cultivated for years, and is greatly prized 
by the sportsmen of Maryland. 


As much interest is now taken in this remarkable breed of dogs, we will give a 
few quotations about it, taken from “The Dog and the Sportsman,” by T. S. Skinner, 
former editor of the “Turf Register,” etc., Philadelphia, 1845. In this book, the first 
published in this country on the dog, game, and the gun,—and now quite scarce,— 
is the first account of the origin of this breed. These quotations will put the reader in 
possession of the ancient history of the Chesapeake Bay dog—[Eprror]. 

“As to this stock, besides the best of them being still red or black, there are 
other reasons for assuming that those most esteemed have descended from, and still 
partake distinctly of, the blood and traits of a pair of these colors, brought directly, 
male and female, from Newfoundland to Maryland, nearly forty years ago. Of that 
importation, we are glad to have it in our power to preserve the following authentic 
memorr, furnished, at our instance, by the importer himself, a gentleman who possesses, 
as all his friends know, an instinctive fondness for good dogs and good deeids + 


““* BALTIMORE, MARYLAND, January 7, 1845. 


“<¢My Dear Sir: In the fall of 1807 I was on board of the ship Cazéon, belonging to 
my uncle, the late Hugh Thompson, of Baltimore, when we fell in, at sea, near the 
termination of a very heavy equinoctial gale, with an English brig in a sinking con- 
dition, and took off the crew. The brig was loaded with cod-fish, and was bound to 
Poole, in England, from Newfoundland. I boarded her, in command of a boat from 
the Canton, which was sent to take off the English crew, the brig’s own boats having 
been all swept away, and her crew in a state of intoxication. I found on board of her 
two Newfoundland pups, male and female, which I saved, and subsequently, on land- 
ing the English crew at Norfolk, our own destination being Baltimore, I purchased these 
two pups of the English captain for a guinea apiece. Being bound again to sea, I 
gave the dog-pup, which was called Sailor, to Mr. John Mercer, of West River, and 
the slut-pup, which was called Canton, to Dr. James Stewart, of Sparrow’s Point. The 
history which the English captain gave me of these pups was, that the owner of his 
brig was extensively engaged in the Newfoundland trade, and had directed his corre- 
spondent to select and send him a pair of pups of the most approved Newfoundland 
breed, but of different families, and that the pair I purchased of him were selected 
under this order. The dog was of a dingy red color and the slut black. They were 
not large; their hair was short, but very thick coated; they had dew-claws. Both 
attained great reputation as water-dogs. They were most sagacious in everything, 
particularly in all duties connected with duck-shooting. Governor Lloyd exchanged a 


47 


738 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


merino ram for the dog, at the time of the merino fever, when such rams were selling for 
many hundred dollars, and took him over to his estate on the eastern shore of Mary- 
land, where his progeny were well known for many years after, and may still be known 
there and on the western shore as the Saz/or breed. The slut remained at Sparrow’s 
Point till her death, and her progeny were and are still well known through Patapsco 
Neck, on the Gunpowder, and up the bay, amongst the duck-shooters, as unsurpassed 
for their purposes. I have heard both Doctor Stewart and Mr. Mercer relate most 
extraordinary instances of the sagacity and performance of both dog and slut, and 
would refer you to their friends for such particulars as I am unable, at this distance of 
time, to recollect with sufficient accuracy to repeat. 
““<«Vours, in haste, 
“¢ GEORGE Law.’ 


“On inquiry, since the date of the above, of Mr. Mercer and of Dr. J. Stewart, it is 
ascertained of the former, who owned Sailor, that ‘he was of fine size and figure —lofty 
in his carriage, and built for strength and activity ; remarkably muscular and broad 
across the hips and breast ; head large, but not out of proportion ; muzzle rather larger 
than is common with that race of dog; his color a dingy red, with some white on the 
face and breast; his coat short avd smooth, but uncommonly thick, and more like a 
coarse fury than hair ; tail full, with long hair, and always carried very high. His eyes 
were very peculiar; they were so /g#¢ as to have almost an unnatural appearance, 
something resembling what is termed a qwa// eye in a horse ; and it is remarkable that 
in a visit which I made to the eastern shore, nearly twenty years after he was sent there, 
in a sloop which had been sent expressly for him, to West River, by Governor Lloyd, 
I saw many of his descendants who were marked with this peculiarity.’ 

“Does it not seem to be a characteristic of the best water-dogs that, like the 
eagle and the owl, the lion and the cat, and other birds and beasts of prey whose 
condition and habits require extraordinary powers of vision, as does the dog when 
swimming in pursuit of ducks at a great distance, that they should have eyes of a 
yellow or, at least, of an uncommon, not black, color? 

* * * “Were old Varnell (the trusted servant and duck-shooter of that vener- 
able and high-spirited patriot, Doctor J. Stewart) still alive, he could relate many most 
extraordinary feats performed by Canton at Sparrow’s Point. She surpassed her species 
generally in unrivaled devotion to the water and to the sport of ducking, as carried on 
by the old Doctor’s colored man, Varnell, with his murderous sz7ve/ gun/ Her patience 
and endurance of fatigue seemed a/most incredible, and her performances would be 
best illustrated by taking down, from the old Doctor and others, who remember 
them, the facts of her fights with wounded swans, after pursuing them in the water 
for miles. Also her extraordinary pursuit of wounded ducks, amongst rotten and 
floating ice, and sometimes in fogs and darkness. On one occasion, she brought 
out 22 or 23 ducks, all killed or wounded by Varnell at a single shot. A good 
deal of time was lost in pursuing these wounded ducks, and at’ the close of this 
pursuit, it being then dark, Varnell gave up the slut as lost, so many hours had she 
been engaged in bringing out her game; but after Varnell had sorrowfully turned 
his face homeward, she overtook him with one or two ducks in her mouth; and 
the old Doctor remembers hearing Varnell say, that at one time, when she was most 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. A 


io) 
ne) 


INTERRUPTED PILGRIMS. 


fatigued, she climbed on a cake of floating ice, and after resting herself on it, she 
renewed her pursuit of the ducks. 

* * * “Tn their descendants, even to the present remote generation, the fine 
qualities of the, original pair are conspicuously preserved, in spite of occasional stains 
of inferior blood. * * * There is one now (Leo) at Maxwell’s Point, on the 
Gunpowder River, in Maryland, a descendant of Sailor, through a slut pup of his, 
who deserves to be named as a noble specimen of his tribe. * * * Leo stands 
in height from 20 to 22 inches; black, with a small white spot on his breast, and 
a little white on each foot; his eyes, again, yellow! Huis form is something after 
the model of the setter, without his feathery tail, or the smooth one of the pointer; 
not so deep in the chest as the setter, but rounder in his body, and larger in the 
neck, with his ears smaller and more set up, and the tips of them turning down. 
His hair not exactly long, yet further from being short; with a woolly under-jacket 
to protect his skin from the water, for he has often to make his way through the 
ice. Such is the personnel of Leo—a dog 


“¢ Whose honest heart is still his master’s own, 
Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone.’ 


“Many anecdotes might be related in proof of his reasoning powers; but we 
have room only to add, in general terms, that he comes filly up to the line of his 


740 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


duty. Of how few bipeds can we say as much? When ducks are passing over, 
he takes his stand with his master, his fore-feet resting on the blind, and, still as a 
mouse, he watches not the gun, nor anything but the game as it approaches; and 
listening to hear the shot strike, the moment a duck is seen to falter in its flight 
as it falls, the good dog plunges in the river like a ball from a cannon, and, from 
whatever distance, brings the duck and lays it at the feet of his master. He has 
been known to bring out as many as three at a time, and has the sagacity, when 
some are only crippled and in danger of being lost, to give to them first a finish- 
ing gvif, leaving such as are stone dead to be secured at leisure. When a duck 
dives to escape him, it is curious to see how he will stand erect, head and shoulders 
out of water, watching in all directions for its re-appearance. Such are the offices, 
such the achievements, of the high-bred water-dog of the Chesapeake Bay and the 
noble estuaries that commingle in its bosom. 

“Three types of the Chesapeake Bay dog are now recognized: (1.) The Otter 
breed: color, tawny sedge; hair, very short. (2.) The Red Winchester: hair, long. 
(3-) The red-brown, with a curly coat. A white spot on the breast is not unusual 
in the three types. 

““Measurements: From fore-toe to top of back, 25 inches; from tip of nose to 
base of head, 10 inches; girth of body back of fore-leg, 33 inches; breast, g inches; 
around fore-feet, 6 inches; around fore-arm below shoulder, 7 inches; between eyes, 
21% inches; length of ears, 5 mches; from base of head to root of tail, 35 inches; 
tail, 16 inches; around the muzzle below eyes, 1o inches.” 


By nine o'clock we had ninety-six fine ducks in our blind, and a 
very handsome and imposing-looking lot of game, indeed, they 
made. After that hour the ducks ceased “trading,” as flying from 
one point to another is termed, and began to form great beds of 
countless thousands out in the open water. As far as the eye could 
reach, the middle of the stream and the broad water of the river 
below were covered with them. There were literally acres of ducks 
of all kinds; but ‘ trading” was at an end, and shooting, except of 
an occasional single or stray duck, was temporarily suspended. 

“Well,” said B., “I suppose, now, you'd like to see some duck- 
tolling ?” 

“T’d like to be told,” I replied, “what tolling is.” 

B. declined to explain, and said the only way to find out was to 
see it for oneself. It was determined to go over to Cold Spring, 
and as a walk of half a mile across one of these peninsulas will take 
one from one estuary to another, we shouldered our guns and were 
soon in sight of it. It was just such another sheet of water as we 
had left, with woods growing thickly down to a sandy shore. We 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 741 


walked leisurely over, and Joe, having gone to his cabin for a young 
spaniel in his keeping, overtook us. Cold Spring was full of ducks, 
but they were all “bedded” far out from the shore. We made for a 
sheltered cove, and were shortly crawling on our hands and knees 
through the calamus and dry, yellow-tufted marsh-grass, which 
made a good cover almost to the water’s edge. Joe left the dogs 
with us, and, going back into the woods, presently returned with his 
hat full of chips from the stump of a tree that had been felled. The 
ducks were swimming slowly up before the wind, and it seemed pos- 
sible that a large body of them might pass within a few hundred 
yards of where we were. The two dogs, Rollo and Jim, lay 
down close behind us, and Joe, lying flat behind a thick tuft a few 
yards to our right, and about fifteen feet from the water's edge, had 
his hat full of chips and held the young spaniel beside him. All 
remained perfectly quiet and watched the ducks. After nearly 
three-quarters of an hour's patient waiting, we saw a large body of 
ducks gradually drifting in toward our cove. They were between 
three and four hundred yards away, when B. said: 

“Try them now, Joe! Now, boys, be ready, and don’t move a 
muscle until I say fire !” 

Then Jce commenced tolling the ducks. He threw a chip into 
the water, and let his dog go. The spaniel skipped eagerly in with 
unbounded manifestations of delight. I thought it for a moment a 
great piece of carelessness on Joe’s part. But in went another chip 
just at the shallow edge, and the spaniel entered into the fun with 
the greatest zest imaginable. Joe kept on throwing his chips, first 
to the right and then to the left, and the more he threw, the more 
gayly the dog played. For twenty minutes I watched this myste- 
rious and seemingly purposeless performance, but presently, looking 
toward the ducks, I noticed that a few coots had left the main body 
and had headed toward the dog. Even at that distance, I could see 
that they were attracted by his actions. They were soon followed 
by other coots, and, after a minute or two, a few large ducks came 
out from the bed and joined them. Others followed these, and then 
there were successive defections of rapidly increasing numbers. 
Several ducks stood up in the water by the aid of their wings, 
sustained themselves a moment, and, sitting down, swam rapidly 
around in involved circles, betraying the greatest excitement. And 


A7A 


742 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


still the dog played, and played, and gamboled in graceful fashion 
after Joe’s chips. By this time the ducks were not over two hun- 
dred yards away, and, taking heart of their numbers, were approach- 
ing rapidly, showing in all their actions the liveliest curiosity. It 
was an astonishing and most interesting spectacle to see them mar- 
shaling about, to see long lines stand up out of the water, to note 
their fatuous excitement, and the fidelity with which the dog kept to 
his deceitful antics, never breaking the spell by a fatal bark or a dis- 
turbing movement. The more wildly he played, the more erratic 
grew the actions of the ducks. They deployed from right to left, 
retreated and advanced, whirled in companies, and crossed and re- 
crossed one another. Stragglers hurried up from the rear, and 
bunches from the main bed came fluttering and pushing through to 
the front to see what it was all about. By this time the nearest 
skirmishers were not a hundred yards off, and as Joe threw the 
chips to right or left and the dog wheeled after them, so would the 
ducks immediately wheel from side to side. On they came until 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 743 


some were about thirty yards away. These held back, while the 
ungovernable curiosity of those behind made them push forward 
until the dog had a closely packed audience of over a thousand 
ducks gathered in front of him. 

“Tire!” said B., and the spectacle ended in havoc and slaughter. 
We gave them the first barrel sitting, and, as they rose, the second. 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS. 


We got thirty-nine canvas-backs and red-heads and some half dozen 
coots. 

Another way of “tolling” ducks, said to be very effectual, is with 
a gorgeous yellow-and-red bandana handkerchief, waved above the 
grass and rushes on a stick. Ducks will walk right up on shore to 
examine it and pay the penalty of their curiosity. The canvas-back 
has the bump of inquisitiveness more largely developed than any 
other wild variety. 


744 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


J. S. Skinner, in “The Dog and the Sportsman,” Phila., 1845, gives the follow- 
ing account of the origin of this singular method of decoying ducks—[Eprror]: 


“More than forty years ago (1805), this curious mode of getting ducks is said 
to have had its commencement near Havre de Grace, Maryland. 

“Tradition says the discovery was made by a sportsman who, patiently waiting 
for a body of ducks to feed within gun-shot (as was then the only chance of get- 
ting a shot at them on the water), saw them suddenly raise their heads and swim 
directly for the shore. On looking for the cause of this strange maneuver, he found 
they were decoyed by a red fox playing on the shore. 

“An active, sprightly dog is generally selected for this service. * * * The 
only act necessary is to keep your dog in constant motion; a red color is best, and 
a long bushy tail of great advantage. 

“The canyas-back and red-heads are the best to tole, and they appear to be 
differently operated on. The former comes to the dog with head erect, sitting high 
on the water, and when near you has, if I may use the expression, a kind of idiotic 
look in the eye, whereas the latter are more sunk in the water, and appear uncon- 
scious of their approach to the shore.” 


Upon the table the canvas-back makes a royal dish, though few 
can distinguish between it and the red-head when both are in season. 
Only those very familiar with the birds can tell which is which when 
alive, and, when served, it becomes almost an impossibility. The 
celery flavor is more marked in the canvas-back in the best of the 
season. It is seldom served precisely as it should be anywhere out 
of Maryland. If allowed to remain in the oven five minutes too 
long it is unfit for the table. A great deal also depends upon the 
carving. A good, quick oven will cook a full-sized duck in twenty- 
two minutes. It should never remain in over twenty-five. After a 
duck is picked and drawn, it should be simply wiped dry. Water 
should never touch it, and it should be fairly seasoned before going 
to the fire.* When done, the birds should be placed in pairs in hot, 
dry dishes. There is no need to prepare a gravy: immediately they 
are cut they will fill the dish with the richest gravy that ever was 
tasted. One canvas-back to each “cover” is considered a fair allow- 


*«P.S. How tro Cook a Canvas-Back.— Take it as soon after the ‘/eaden mess- 
enger’ brings it down as possible, even while it is yet warm, if it can be so, and cook 
it in a ‘tin kitchen,’ turning and basting it frequently with a gravy composed in the 
bottom of the oven with a little water and a grain of salt and its own drippings. The 
fire should be a brisk one (hickory the best), so that it may be done ‘to a turn’ in 
twenty-five or, at most, thirty minutes. Serve it up immediately in its own gravy, with 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 745 


ance at a Maryland table, but when the bird is only an incident of 
the dinner or supper, of course half a bird is sufficient for each 
person. Slicing the bird is unheard of. The two-pronged fork is 
inserted diagonally astride the breast-bone, and the knife lays half 
of the bird on each side, leaving the ‘‘carcass” on the fork between. 
The triangle of meat an inch thick comprised between the leg and 


) 


IN THE LARDER. 


the wing, with its apex at the back and its base at the breast, is con- 
sidered the most delicious morsel of meat that exists. The canvas- 
back in Maryland is served with large hominy fried in cakes, celery, 
and a dry champagne, or a bottle of Burgundy that is Burgundy. 
Terrapin, in the order of dishes, precedes the duck at the table. 
In Baltimore, it is a great lenten dish, devout and wealthy Catholics 
finding that it greatly facilitates the observance of the ‘ regula- 
tions.” It is singular that it should appear to be exempt from the 
church prohibition, for when on the table it would be hard to define 


a dish of nice, well boiled (and then fried) milk-white ominy, and then, if it may so 
happen, with Cadwallader’s old ‘butler’ at your elbow. If such fare do not 


“©Raze out the written troubles of the brain,’ 
And dispose the partaker to love his neighbor as himself, 
And thank Providence for all its bounties, 
“Oh, bear him to some distant shore, 
Some solitary cell, 
Where none but savage monsters roar, 


Where love ne’er deigns to dwell.” 


From ‘* The Dog and the Sportsman,” by J. S. Skinner, Philadelphia, 1845. 
g I ) I 45 


746 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


it as anything but very positive meat. It is certainly quite as much 
meat as a broiled leg of a frog. Terrapins are worth from $25 to 
$36 adozen during the season. A dozen terrapins consists of twelve 
“‘diamond-backs,” no one of which measures less than seven inches in 
length on the under shell. A seven-inch terrapin is called a “ count- 


i 


DION RCICAL 


POSTHUMOUS MIGRATION. 


terrapin,” and anything smaller is not counted. The largest known 
do not exceed ten inches in length and eight pounds in weight; 
and such are extremely rare. The seven-inch terrapin averages 
four pounds in weight. ‘ Sliders,” the common river turtles of 
almost all the rivers of the region, grow to a much larger size. 
They sell at from $6 to $9 a dozen, and are largely used by hotels 
and restaurants, where they are retailed at $1 and $1.25 a dish as 
genuine diamond-back terrapin. It is next to impossible to get a 
genuine dish of terrapin at a public house. The one or two people 
controlling the trade say they sell almost exclusively for private 
tables. 

Terrapin are caught all the way from Savannah and Charleston 
to the Patapsco River, at Baltimore, but the genuine diamond-back 
belongs only to the upper Chesapeake and its tributaries. The 
majority of the sliders are brought to Baltimore from the James 
River. The terrapin-catchers make from $5 to $50 per week, and 
they find the reptile, or “bird,” as the doz vivant calls it, by probing 
the mud in the shallows with sticks. The terrapin is dormant, and 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 747 


AFTER A GOOD DAY'S WORK. 


when found is easily secured. A four-pound terrapin taken about 
September 15th will exist prosperously in a dark, cool place, without 
food or drink, until April 15th, and (the dealers say) will gain two 
ounces in weight. After that time it gets lively and active, and will 
take hold of a finger with great effusion and effectiveness. The male 
terrapin is known as a “bull” and the female as a “cow.” The 
latter is much more highly prized, and generally contains about thirty 
eggs. No dish of terrapin is thought complete without being gar- 
nished with these. It is sad to be compelled to state that the sinful 
restaurateur and hotel man betakes him to the egg of the pigeon, 
wherewith to set off his counterfeit presentment of a noble reptile. 
Thirty years ago, the largest dealer in Baltimore had hard work 
to dispose of the terrapin he received at $6 a dozen. The product, 
he tells me, is about the same, year in and year out. He sells as 
many now as he did then. But old people on the eastern peninsula 
bring to mind when of a warm day the terrapins, basking in shoals on 
the surface of the water, were caught in seines and fed to the pigs. 
That day, however, is of the past, and it is doubtful if this valuable 
article of food is not gradually becoming extinct. The negroes who 


748 Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 


make a business of sending them to market complain of their increas- 
ing rarity, and nothing but the high price has stimulated them to 
keep up the supply. 

The negroes are credited with having been the first to bring the 
virtues of the terrapin to notice. They cooked, and still cook it, by 
placing it alive among the hot coals or in an oven. When it is suffi- 
ciently cooked, the under shell is easily removed with a knife, and the 
contents are then eaten from the inverted upper shell, nothing being 
removed but the gall-sac. There are many, particularly epicures of 


A TERRAPIN HUNTER'S HOME. 


long experience with the terrapin, who maintain that this is the true 
way to cook it. One noted for his knowledge of Maryland dishes 
invariably cooks his terrapin as follows: He places a “ count,” alive, 
on its back in an old-fashioned ten-plate stove, roasts it until the 
under shell is easily detached, removes the gall, adds a little butter, 
salt, and a glass of good sherry or madeira, and then eats it, with 
asense as of a Mussulman discounting the delights of the seventh 
heaven. He has never met Mr. Bergh. 

Baltimore consumes most of the terrapins caught. Large numbers 
are shipped to New York. Delmonico is a good customer of the 
Baltimore market, and Scoggins’s game and terrapin dépot is 
seldom without a box or two addressed to the New York restau- 
rant. With all due respect for a New York czzszuze, neither the ter- 
rapin nor the canvas-back is ever the same when eaten away from, 
so to speak, its native heath. There is an indefinable halo of origin- 
ality about Maryland cookery, wholly independent of the process 
just delicately alluded to in connection with terrapin, that obtains 
nowhere else. A Maryland dinner is simplicity itself, but it would 
tax the capacity of the “best men” of a New York club. 

Washington eats more fish than any other city in the United 
States in proportion to its population, but Baltimore probably eats 


Canvas-Back and Terrapin. 749 


more good things generally. There is a sort of refined barbarism 
about such a menu as that of a plain winter dinner in Maryland 
that would doubtless vex Mr. Felix Deliée and his confréres of 
that august fraternity, the cordons bleus of New York. Here it is, 
without any of the “illusions” in which a French artist would so 
like to enshroud it: ‘‘ Four small oysters from Lynhaven Bay (once 
opened, they would never again be inclosed in the self-same shell) ; 
terrapin @ /a Maryland; canvas-back ducks; a small salad of crab 
and lettuce. Vegetables:—baked Irish potatoes; fried hominy 
cakes, and plain celery.” If this shall have been attended by 
adventitious circumstances, it will put the artificialities of refined 
cookery of the exalted order entirely to the blush. 


TERRAPIN FOR THREE. 


Ao DANE Wale an Ska Ae Se 


\ 
Bive AVR IREE DI Mi MeAVYoE AR: 


OON after the Christmas holidays, sport with dog and gun 
ceases, and has become a matter for reveries before the evening 
fire, where scene after scene comes and goes with the involun- 

tary action of the mind, as it recalls those happy days of sport with 
congenial and manly friends. What a refreshment the mind thus 
takes to itself! What a respite are these reveries from the weariness 
of routine and the emptiness and heartlessness of conventional life! 
The pleasures of the sportsman do not end with his sport, no more 
than the murmurs of the rivulet we heard last summer in the depths 
of the forests cease to soothe us because now silenced in the death 
of winter. 

With the cool evenings of September the sportsman is reminded 
of the approaching fall, and bethinks himself of what he can do to sat- 
isfy his longing for his favorite pastime. He recollects that now the 
wild oats are turning yellow and their ripened heads are waving 
over the marshes and borders of our tidal rivers. Here the Soras, 
or Carolina rails, are fattening into delicious morsels. It is true the 
sport is tame compared with shooting bob white or woodcock over 
‘Billy’s” sure and steady point; but the gun has not been hand- 
led for eight months, and our friend thinks the practice will be an 
easy introduction to his November shooting; and then his boy, who 
can already hold his gun pretty well on clay pigeons, wishes to try 
his Christmas gift on real birds, and what can be better for his first 
lesson in wing-shooting than a day with the rails among the high, 
waving water-oats? He will surely bring many birds to bag, and 
he will ever remember in after-life the pride and pleasure he had 


A Day with the Rails. 751 


when, on reaching home, with beaming face he hastened to present 
his mother with his first bag of real game. 

When they reached the tavern on the border of the river, they 
were greeted with the honest laugh of the innkeeper and hearty 
shakes of the hands by the ‘ pushers,” who rose from their seat on 
the veranda to welcome the gentleman so well known to them; for 
he had spent many seasons in shooting over these marshes. After 
much talk about the time of high water, the various places where 
rail were most likely to be abundant, and the successes of those 
sportsmen who had just left for home, two pushers were engaged to 
be in readiness soon after dinner, for the shooting-ground selected 
(if ground it may be called) was over three miles distant. The 
pushers came soon after the youth had unpacked the guns and 
cartridges, had donned his shooting-jacket, and had got his father’s 
“traps” in shape to be handily carried to the boats. I strongly sus- 
pect that these preparations had so fired the imagination of the 
youngster with anticipated sport that he had not had so much 
real pleasure in a twelvemonth. He met the pushers as_ they 
reached the river-bank. The two boats he there saw were flat- 
bottomed, pointed at the bow, with a broad stern in which was a 
roomy seat for the pusher to stand on while he plied his “gaff.” 
This is the name given to the pushing-pole, from twelve to fifteen 
feet long, and fashioned at one end somewhat like the gaff to which 
is fastened “the head” of the mainsail of a sloop. In one of the 
boats was another form of gaff, whose end was more like a large 
gun-stock. Both gaffs were quite broad, so that in crossing small 
spaces of open and deep water the pusher can use them quite effect- 
ively as paddles. 

In the bow of each boat was a good-sized basket, covered with 
a canvas flap, and holding a large cigar-box containing a hundred 
or more of cartridges. This box was tied with its upper edge 
nearly in a line with the top of the basket. This arrangement 
left the bottom and nearly all of the space in the basket free 
for the birds; and the canvas cover shielded these from the sun 
and the cartridges from the wet. 

Before starting, the father instructed his son to take a score or 
so of cartridges and put them in the roomy right-hand pocket of 
his shooting-jacket, explaining that they would thus be in the most 


752 A Day with the Rails. 


convenient position in loading; for, on opening the gun, the right 
hand unlocks the breech-action while the left holds the gun 
with a grasp around the barrels and fore-end. Thus the right 
hand is free to extract the exploded shells and to take the cartridges “ 
from the pocket and slip them into the breech chambers without it 
being necessary to relieve the left hand’s grasp on the gun. Also, 
as soon as the gun is loaded, the left hand is in position to bring 
the gun to the shoulder for aim and fire. Much of the success 
of rail-shooting depends on the rapidity with which the gunner can 
take advantage of shots presented by numbers of birds rising in 
rapid succession. 

In the bottom of the boats were several blocks of wood 
painted white. The uses of these the young sportsman soon found 
out. 

Before starting, they wrapped around the calf of their right legs 
several folds of thick flannel. This was to act as a sort of buffer to 
rest against the edge of the seat just forward of midship, before 
which they were to stand in shooting. The calf of the right leg 
rested against it, with the left leg placed well forward, but all without 
any stiffness of posture. When the boat is shoved forward by the 
pusher, it moves through the resisting oats with a sort of jerk, and 
the calf of the right leg of the gunner is thrown at each push 
back against the edge of the seat which braces him. The wearing 
of the flannel, though not absolutely necessary, and by some prob- 
ably regarded as effeminate, will add greatly to the comfort of 
a day’s shooting, in the course of which the leg receives a great 
many rubs and thumps. 

During the trip to the shooting-grounds, the pusher, who was 
now also guardian and instructor to the son of an old patron, laid 
down various precepts which the youngster was to follow in rail- 
shooting, interspersed with many interesting anecdotes illustra- 
ting the curious habits of these interesting little birds. He told 
his pupil that he must stand at ease, with his legs not too stiff, so 
that he should preserve an upright position ; and that he must keep 
his feet steadily in one position while he was ready with his gun to 
shoot; that he must be quick with his gun, for a bird would often 
rise at twenty yards or more away and merely flit up, and then 
drop down in the oats; but that he must let a bird get off some dis- 


MALE 


DRAWN 


AND 


RY 


FEMALE 


JAMES C. 


eT 


RAIL. 


BEARD. 


\} 
i 
Y 


A Day with the Rats. 755 


tance if he was flushed quite near the boat, for otherwise his shot 
would blow him to pieces. 

Arriving at the edge of the marsh, the pushers shipped their 
oars, and, plunging the broad butts of their gaffs into the mud, with 
strong and skillful arms they sent the boats into the midst of the 
water-oats. 

As they entered the oats, the youth stood up in the boat, and was 
gazing with that steady, wide-awake, and all-around look so well 
known to those who have watched a sportsman in the act of flushing 
a bird. He held his gun with the muzzle pointing upward. His 
left hand was well forward on the fore-end, with the forefinger of 
his right under the trigger-guard. The pusher at once took in the 
pose, and saw that his father had been schooling him. The next 
instant a thrill was sent through the young sportsman as two birds 
sprung from the oats — one directly in front of him, the other on his 
left quarter. The first he fired at instantly and blew to pieces. In 
his haste to get the other, he shifted his left foot, tilted the boat, and 
then shot under the bird. The old pusher here stopped his boat, 
and, leaning on his gaff, said: 

“Well! that’s a good lesson. I had no idee you'd ’a’ shewn off 
the good p’ints I give you so soon. I tell you ag’in to give the near 
bird time before shootin’, and when you take a side shot don’t take 
a step in dancin’. But the bird’s ‘a count,’ so I'll jist find his head 
to show your father that you killed your first bird.” 

They had not gone over twenty yards farther when three rails 
sprung up. The first that caught the boy’s eye was the one which, 
with a rather rapid rate, went to the right. This he fired at and missed. 
The other bird flew to the left, and this one he killed cleanly. The 
pusher “marked” and ‘“‘boated” this bird, and then went for the 
bird first shot at. Though he had accurately marked him down, he 
failed to flush him on approaching the spot. The pusher said the 
rail had gone under the water and was no doubt quite near, cling- 
ing to a submerged stalk with his beak just above water, and that it 
was useless to try to flush him, for he would allow the boat to go 
over him before he would take wing. He said the rails often acted 
in this manner after they had been flushed and shot at, or when 
they had been slightly wounded. Sometimes, however, even when 
they had not been already flushed, they would remain perfectly 


750 A Day with the Ratts. 


A PUSHER. 


quiet till the boat had approached near them, and then would quickly 
swim to one side, in case the water was not too thickly studded with 
oat-stalks. 

The next shots were at a flock of reed-birds, which rose in a 
compact cloud not twelve yards from the gunner.. As he had been 
forewarned of their presence by the pusher, he was on his guard, 
and so reserved his fire till the birds were twenty yards distant, 
when, in quick succession, he emptied both barrels at them. The 
flock did not seem much diminished by his shots, and he was 
much surprised when, shortly afterward, the pusher and he had 
gathered in more than thirty birds—a dainty dinner. The pusher 
could not help expressing his surprise at the want of delight in the 
youth at such a record for his two shots, but gave a merry 


A Day with the Raits. 757 


chuckle, with “A chip of the old block,” when the boy told him that 
he had rather kill one bird flying swiftly across than bring fifty to 
bag out of a flock. 

‘“Mark! teal,” said the pusher, as he caught sight of three blue- 
winged teal coming swiftly down the river. 

The youth had just time to charge his gun with a cartridge of 
No. 4 shot, which he took out of his left-hand pocket, and to bring 
his gun to bear on the teal as they passed him on the left at about 
forty yards distant. Bang! and with quickened wings they passed 
unscathed. 

“Why, I. held directly on that rear bird,” said the crest-fallen 
youth. 

“Tf,” said the pusher, ‘you had held directly on the leader, you 
might have killed the bird you fired at. You must hold two yards 
ahead of those birds flying across at that distance. Now sit down, 
and I'll take you to the other shore; but remember, it is there not 
sheltered from the wind as in this cove, among these hills and high 
trees, and the birds will fly faster, and it may be that, when the 
wind catches them, some of them will twist as they go, in a way like 
snipe.” 

And so it happened; the rail rising wildly and speeding away 
with astonishing rapidity for a bird generally so sluggish in flight. 
Here the youth met with many disappointments ; but he was young 
and ambitious, and it does not take long for an intelligent youth to 
profit by failures—in the pursuit of pleasure. 

“T’ve the knack of it now.” 

‘“Good shot!” said the pusher, as the youngster cleanly killed a 
cross-flying bird at thirty yards. 

“Yes, I held over a foot ahead of him.” 

“That’s right. Did you see the other bird scud across the 
river? Who would have thought that was a rail? You see how 
an easterly wind can make them go.” 

“T suppose,” said the boy, ‘that’s the way they fly when the 
first frost chills them, and they all leave between sunset and sunrise. 
Father says they migrate in the fall to great distances, going even 
beyond the southern borders of our country, to the West Indies, and 
that they have been known to alight on ships when over a hundred 
miles distant from the nearest land.” 

48A 


758 A Day with the Rails. 


RAIL-SHOOTING, 


With varying successes and failures, the youth shot till the tide 
had fallen so low that the birds had enough near ground to retreat 
to when the boat approached them and they would not take wing. 

And thus ended the boy’s first lesson in the marshes. To say 
he was proud, notwithstanding his lost teal, would do him injustice. 
He thought more of how happy he was to know that hereafter he 
could be a companion to his father when he ran away from the con- 
fusion and cares of the city for three or four days’ relaxation in the 
brown autumn fields, or when he left in summer for two or three 
weeks’ sojourn in the depths of the northern woods. 

On entering the oats, the fathers boat had taken a different 
direction from that of his son’s, till they were separated by fifty 
yards or more. Thus no danger could ensue should the youngster, 
in the heat of sport, shoot toward his father. As a further precau- 
tion against danger, the youth’s gun, a 16-gauge 6 lb. breech- 
loader, was charged with only 2 drachms of powder and 34 0z. of No. 
12 shot, the finest made, except ‘‘ dust-shot.” His father shot a 12- 
gauge gun, loaded with 2% drachms of powder and 1 ounce of No. 
10 shot. He also had in his boat another gun of 10-gauge, charged 


A Day with the Rails. 759 


with 4 drachms of powder and 1% ounces of No. 4 shot, in reserve, 
in case a flock of teals should spring up before him or fly over- 
head as they “traded” up or down the river. He had not gone far 
into the oats before the rail began to spring up above the tops of 
the oats, and then flutter away with drooping legs. Two rose in 
front of him, and he quickly cut them down. He had no sooner 
reloaded, when three birds rose, two of which fell to his aim. The 
pusher now threw two of his painted blocks to the spot where 
the first two fell, and pushed for the brace which had just tumbled. 
These were soon found, and he then sought his blocks on the 
right, and, finding these, he soon picked up the two rails quite near 
them. 

Thus, without a miss, the father killed 29 birds; the 30th he 
lost by the boat taking a rapid jerk forward in water rather free of 
oats just as he discharged his gun. The result of his day’s sport 
was 105 Carolina rails, brought to boat with 116 shots. He missed 
six birds, and the pusher failed to find five others which he killed. 
He also brought to bag five teals, three coots, and one king-rail. 


EGG OF THE CAROLINA RAIL, 


WILD Ree Y-~ SO Om TN G: 


By JAMES GORDON. 


HE wild turkey, J7/eleagris Gallopavo, the noblest species of 

American game birds, is common throughout the South and 

West, and yet is so wild that its habits are but little known. 

The writer, although an experienced hunter, finds each year some- 
thing new to learn concerning its peculiarities. 

Our wild turkey takes little care in the preparation of a nest. I 
have often found them sitting on the bare ground in exposed posi- 
tions. Yet they are very tenacious when sitting, and will allow a 
man to approach quite near before they will leave their eggs. It is 
generally believed that our domestic turkey owes its origin to our 
common wild turkey, J7. GaWopavo. Even the great ornithologist 
Audubon falls into this error. Our domestic turkey is derived from 
the wild turkey of Mexico, Meleagris Mexicana, which is a coarser 
fowl than the wild turkey of America; but it is easily tamed, while 
the American turkey, like the Indian, is untameable. They can, — 
indeed, be made quite gentle, when hatched by a barn-yard fowl 
and fed from the hand, but such is their propensity to ramble that 
they ultimately stray off and become wild again. 

If you have never seen a wild turkey, do not take his plebeian 
cousin of the barn-yard for a model, for they are very unlike. His voice 
is as different as the crow of the game-cock from the Shanghai. The 
domestic turkey’s gobble is coarse and disagreeable, while the gobble 
of the wild turkey is as shrill and clear as the note of a cavalry 
bugle. When heard at early dawn in the still forest, it is singularly 
sharp and piercing. It seems to strike upon the senses rather than 
upon the ear, penetrating the nerves of the hunter with a thrill of 


Wild Turkey- Shooting. 761 


pleasurable emotion. If you will come to the South and accompany 
me some morning in the spring, which is the gobbling season, we will 
seek his haunts. If there is a large creek bottom near, we will look 
for him there. We reach the foot of the hills at dawn; daylight is 
beginning to appear in the east, and the stars are fading from sight. 
Now, if there is one in hearing, we will make him gobble; this we 
do by imitating the hoot of the barred owl. Instantly a clear, rolling 
gobble responds,—“ good-a, good-a, good-a, good-a, good,”— others 
reply, and for a mile above and below is heard the refrain. 

To which one shall we go? We hoot again, and listen intently 
to the reply; then, selecting the fattest, proceed in his direction. 
You ask how we know which is the fattest? Not a difficult task at 
all for an experienced sportsman; the more shrill and sharp the 
gobble, the more fat there is on his breast ; when the breast-sponge 
is not covered with fat, the gobble is hoarse and flabby. We stop 
occasionally to be sure of our course, as we slip forward as rapidly 
and noiselessly as possible. When near enough to hear his strut, 
we pause to listen. The woods, that before seemed so still, are now 
alive with noises. The whip-poor-will is wailing its plaintive song, 
and every bird, that was sleeping so quietly a few minutes ago, is 
now fussing around with the morning greetings to his drowsy mate. 
Concealed by the foliage of a wide beech, we peer through the misty 
shadows, and behold him standing on the limb of a lofty cypress. 
We watch him suck the air to inflate his windbag, then hear him 
emit a pulmonic puff and drum, and he immediately lowers his tail 
and wings. Many think the strut of the turkey-cock is made by 
scraping the tips of his flight feathers. This is a mistake ; he merely 
touches the ground with the tips of his wings. The strut is made by 
forcing the air out of the windbag. He has selected his position 
in the cypress, because cypress brakes are always surrounded by 
water, which protects him from the approach of the wild-cat and 
coon, as they prowl about during the night; besides, anything wad- 
ing in water makes a noise, and the turkey is a light sleeper. Be 
cautious, too, how you walk, for around these marshy sloughs the 
slimy moccasin and deadly cotton-mouth lie in their coils ready to 
strike their envenomed fangs into the foot of the intruder. Some- 
times the turkey can be shot on his roost, and many are killed in 
this way, especially by hunters, who watch them fly up to roost, and 


762 Wild Turkey- Shooting. 


shoot them by moonlight. Not being afraid of cattle, they are easily 
approached after dark by a man with a cow-bell tied on his arm, It 
is now broad daylight, and as we are as near as we can get without 
frightening him, let us conceal ourselves until he flies down. He is 
roosting low; a fat gobbler does not like to fly high. 

Now he alights on the ground, and stands like a bronze statue 
looking for some lurking foe. We now take our yelper, and give a 
few sharp yelps; he hears the call, and, spreading his tail like a fan, 
drops his gray flight feathers until they tip the earth, struts and 
gobbles. He is coming leisurely and cautiously toward us; now a 
hen yelps on the other side, and he pauses between the two calls, 
then struts and gobbles again. The hen is impatient for the caresses 
of her gallant, and runs to him; the others gather around, and with 
his harem he wanders off to his feeding-grounds, regardless of the 
seductive calls of the hen left behind. We hear him gobbling in the 
distance, and follow very cautiously, taking advantage of every 
thicket to screen our approach. 

We call again, and hear in reply, instead of a gobble, a bungling 
attempt at a hen-call, made by some backwoodsman. The gobbler 
had detected the fraud and left. Fearing we might be mistaken for 
a turkey and shot at, as once happened to the writer, we approach 
the woodsman, and while talking with him hear the gobbler a long 
way off, and immediately set out after him, our well-trained pointer 
creeping at our heels. The morning has passed, and the turkeys have 
left the bottoms and sought the ridges, where the leaves have been 
burnt off by the farmers that the grass may grow early for pasturage. 
In the burnt woods it is difficult to approach very near, as all the 
undergrowth is destroyed; and this is the place he selects to spend 
his nooning, where he can pick the tender grass and gather bugs 
and grasshoppers with no fear of being surprised. The hens, one 
by one, have stolen off to their nests, and now he only gobbles at 
long intervals, but will continue strutting occasionally all day. 
Getting his location, we slip carefully around a ridge, and reaching 
a point without being seen, near enough to be heard by him, give a 
cluck and gulp like a hen that has just left her nest. Having caught 
the note of a hen in the morning, we imitate her voice. This is one 
of the perfections in the art of turkey-calling; no two leaves of the 
forest are alike, nor are any two voices of birds or men alike. 


Wild Turkey-Shooting. 763 


A very delicate ear, trained to catch the sounds of the woods, 
can detect the slightest peculiarity in the note of a turkey-hen; 
and as the gobbler catches the familiar sound, he gobbles, but 
remains standing erect as a statue of patience. He has been 
deceived by hunters before, but this call was so like one of his 
wives that, in spite of his suspicious nature, he almost resolves to 
go to her; but still he stands and listens. A less experienced hunter 
would call again; but we remain quiet a long time. Patience is the 
great secret in the art of turkey-hunting. He becomes impatient, 
and gobbles. Still no answer. Then a low, seductive call, as much as 
to say, very coquettishly, it is immaterial, Sir Knight, whether you 
come or not. He has located the call, and decides to go to it. A 
young gobbler has joined him who dares not strut in his presence, 
but precedes the old cock, who struts leisurely behind, using the 
young gobbler as a guard in front. They are still approaching very 
cautiously. In the meantime, the hunter is stretched on his back, 
with his head and shoulders resting against the foot of a giant oak, 
his gun on his knees, and his dog crouched low beside him. They 
are now close enough for a shot. A novice would have shot at the 
foremost; the skilled hunter aims at the head of the hindmost. 
For two reasons: first, he is the largest; second, it will leave the 
remaining turkey nearer for the second barrel. At the crack of the 
gun, the old bird falls flopping to earth in a death struggle, with a 
load of ‘No. 6 shot in his head. The other runs off as fast as his 
legs can carry him. He has not even time to rise and fly, before 
the other barrel, loaded with B.Bs, cuts him down. 

Let us go again in the afternoon, and see if we can find a gobbler 
on his feeding-grounds. We try our callers, but hear no answer. 
We then call fast and loud, like a hen that had returned from her 
nest among the hills and, finding no company in the bottom, feels 
lonesome. A long silence follows; we are tempted to call again, but 
experience has taught us that too much calling at this hour will 
excite suspicion. Presently we hear the puff and drum of the strut, 
and we know he has heard our call, and is looking for us. Now he 
passes within short range. Do not move; before you could raise 
your gun he would dart behind a tree and be off like a shot. He is 
passing a tree ; now, while he is behind it, place you gun in position. 
He steps out, you fire at his head, and the white turban sinks to 


764 Wild Turkey-Shooting. 


earth. The sun is now low on the horizon; let us go down by the 
cypress breaks; perhaps we can roost one. Again we are quietly 
seated, and in a little while hear the flopping of wings; they are 
flying up to roost. We might now slip under the roost and shoot; but 
this is unsportsmanlike ; so we will quietly retire, and return in the 
morning and try our skill in calling a gobbler down. There are many 
ways of hunting turkeys. I have sometimes used a tame gobbler as 
a decoy. The wild gobblers, when they hear the strut and gobble of 
a strange turkey, will come forward to give battle to the intruder. 
Then they are hunted with dogs. A gobbler can be run down 
and caught with hounds; he is a heavy bird, and after two or 
three flights cannot rise to fly again. After the spring season is 
past, the gobblers cease gobbling and wander about alone, or in 
small flocks, until after the young broods are large enough to take 
care of themselves; then they gather together in large flocks 
as the fall comes on. At this season, they are hunted with dogs. 
A well-trained pointer who runs silently on the track and dashes 
in and scatters the flock with a quick bark is the best for this 
service. After the flock is scattered, the hunter conceals himself, 
and in a little while they will begin to call together. If it is in the 
early fall, they make a note like fee, fee, pee. As they grow 
older, the call is coarser. They are easily called up and killed at 
this season. Even a novice may deceive a young turkey that has 
never been hunted. The instruments used for turkey-calls are vari- 


ous; the wing-bone of a turkey is the most primitive instrument, or 
the vibration of a leaf placed against the lips. I use a hollow tube 
or a block with a piece of wire scraped against a whet-stone. 


PoE Ss SHO GiGene 


By ALFRED M. MAYER. 


HEN the great amount of energy pent up in gunpowder 
had become generally known in Europe, during the four- 
teenth century, men began to exercise their minds in the 
invention of cannon and hand-arms that could withstand and direct 
this tremendous force. It is quite interesting to find that the can- 
nons of the fourteenth century were breech-loaders. In the sixteenth 
century both breech-loaders and muzzle-loaders were in general use. 

Hand fire-arms were also used in the fourteenth century. They 
were called bombardes. The bombarde was simply a barrel fixed to 
a stock, and fired from the shoulder. Later, this arm was supplanted 
by the hand-culverin, a rather heavy arm weighing from ten to fifty 
pounds. Its bore was about three-fourths of an inch. It was fired 
from a forked rest. Two men were required to use the piece; one 
to hold and aim it, the other to apply the fire to the touch-hole and 
to help to carry and load it. During the fifteenth century these 
arms appear to have been extensively used, for at the battle of Morat, 
1476, the Swiss were armed with 6000 culverins. 

The gun retained the form of the culverin till the early part of 
the sixteenth century, when the Spaniards invented the arquebus. 
This gun had a longer barrel and smaller bore than the culverin. 
In the forepart of the stock was hinged the ‘ serpentine,” which 
carried a slow-match. The latter was lighted at a match burning on 
the top of the barrel, and then, on depressing the neck of the serpen- 
tine by pulling (what was the counterpart of) the trigger, the pow- 
der was set fire to in the side flash-pan. Later, the serpentine was 
divided into two parts, the lower part forming a trigger, the upper a 


766 The Shot-Gun. 


hammer which was sent for- 
ward by a spring on pull- 
ing the trigger. This, the 
match-lock, is the first and 
the simplest of gun locks. 
In 1515, a notable im- 
provement in fire-arms was 
made at Nuremburg in the invention of the wheel-lock, by which fire 
was obtained by the friction of flint against pyrites, a method of pro- 
curing fire which Europeans had used since prehistoric times. A steel 
wheel, B, with a grooved and roughened edge, was set in rapid rota- 
tion by the action of a spring coiled in its interior. This wheel was 
wound up by a key turning the axis C. The piece of pyrites, E, 
carried in the hammer, D, was thrown onto the rotating 
wheel when the trigger was pulled. The friction of these 
substances caused a stream of sparks to fly into the flash- 
pan. The wheel-lock greatly 
increased the rapidity of fire, 
especially at game which unex- 
pectedly came in sight; it also 


ae 


b Bed %) 
ut ») 


MECHANISM OF THE MATCH-LOCK, 


allowed the marksman to use 
freely both hands in aiming THEE CER MAN WHEEL TOG 
and firing his piece. 

With the improvement of the wheel-lock, the gun began to sup- 
plant the long-bow and cross-bow among European sportsmen. The 
invention of “hail-shot,” about 1550, added to the popularity of the 
gun (which now first became a shot-gun) by giving: greater success 
to the sportsman when shooting at moving game. But the long- 
bow and the arbalest by no means disappeared from the hands of 
sportsmen or from the armies of Europe. The bow had its peculiar 
advantage over the shot-gun as a hunting arm in being noiseless, 
and its inexpensiveness placed it within the reach of all who were 
privileged to carry arms. Besides, in those days, the art of shooting 
on the wing was unknown; and at still game, the arrow launched 
from the long-bow of a skillful archer was probably as effective 
as the wheel-lock gun. The killing range of the arrows of the 
long-bow, their accuracy of flight, and the rapidity with which 
they could be discharged, gave the long-bow the glory of holding 


The Shot-Gun. 767 


its own against fire-arms long after their introduction into armies 
of Europe. It is stated that an English archer could pierce any 
armor at two hundred yards distant, except that made of Milan 
or the best Spanish plate; and the ancient accounts of men in 
armor having been shot through is confirmed by breast and back 
plates, in European museums, perforated with arrow-holes. — Indeed, 
so well did the English appreciate the peculiar excellence of the 
long-bow as a military arm, that it retained a place in their army 
even as late as 1627. 

The wheel-lock hunting arm received improvements in work- 
manship and in matters of detail, but 
remained essentially the same for a cent- 
ury, when, in 1630, the flint-lock was in- 
vented in Spain. To Spanish artisans are 
also due great advances in the manu- 
facture of gun-barrels, in which art they 
continued to improve so much that those 


of their best artisan, Nicholas Biz, of Mad- 


SPANISH FLINT-LOCK, 


rid, sold as high as two hundred dollars. 

The flint-lock fowling-piece held its own during two centuries, 
during which period it was gradually improved in all its parts,—in 
the texture and chambering of the barrels, in the locks, and in the 
general proportions of the gun,—till it reached the zenith of its ex- 
cellence, about 1815, ‘‘when,” says Mr. W. W. Greener (“The Gun 
and its Development”), ‘‘the renowned Joseph Manton—the king 


of gun-makers—had so improved and added to its mechanism as to 


make a first-rate sporting gun veritably an engine; for it is from that 
word that the term ‘gun’ is derived. The various improvements to 
effect self-priming and to render the flash-pan water-tight greatly 
added to the mechanical parts, and a pair of the best pattern flint- 
locks, well made and finished, were well worth the seven pounds 
paid for their manufacture. Manton’s latest improvement in flint- 
locks was the gravitating stop, which rendered it impossible for the 
cock to fall upon the hammer whilst loading the gun. The use of 
them was, however, superseded by detonating guns, to which Man- 
ton also devoted a portion of his time. This wonderful maker 
appears to have led the fashion in everything relating to fire-arms ; 
and his pattern locks, stocks, and furniture were minutely copied by 


768 The Shot-Gun. 


MANTON FLINT-LOCK, 


gun-makers of less note. We give an illustration of the Manton 
fowling-piece, showing his well-known pattern hammers and cocks, 
the water-tight flash-pan, and his gravitating stops. Joseph Man- 
ton, although he received the extraordinarily high price of seventy 
guineas for his best guns, failed several times, and died poor. 
This is accounted for partly by the losses he sustained in lawsuits 
respecting his patents. He was buried in Kensington Cemetery, 
and a monument bearing his epitaph, composed by Colonel Hawker, 
gives the date of his death—2oth June, 1835, aged sixty-nine—and 
eulogizes his work as a practical gun-maker and inventor.” 

Between 1807 and 1825, several inventors endeavored to replace 
the uncertain and slow fire of the flint-lock by the surer and quicker 
ignition given by the explosion of a fulminate. Several devices, such 
as “detonating tubes” placed in the touch-hole and armed with ful- 
minate, fulminate placed in the bottom of the cartridge and exploded 
by the perforation of a needle, and fulminate inclosed between paper 
or metallic foil, were tried, till the well-known nipple and copper cap 
was devised about 1818, an invention which is claimed by Colonel 
Hawker, who showed this plan first to Joseph Manton. 

In 1836, Lefaucheux, of Paris, invented his pin-fire cartridge and 
his breech-loader. I place the cartridge first, for breech-loaders, 
too numerous and varied to mention, had been invented before; but 
the modern breech-loader owes its hearty approval of sportsmen to 
the admirable invention of the Lefaucheux cartridge, with its stout, 
unyielding flanged base, without which, or its equivalent in the 
Pottet central-pin cartridge of 1856, the breech-loader would never 
have had the extensive use it now deservedly enjoys. 


The Shot-Gun. 769 


The Lefaucheux gun is shown below. In the left-hand barrel 
is a cartridge, the-pin of which fits in a recess cut in the top of 
the breech. This pin is struck by the hammer and driven into the 
fulminate held in the bottom of a little brass cup in the center of 
the base of the cartridge. When the gun is closed, the barrels fit 
close to the ‘ standing-breech.” When the lever, shown under the 
“ breech-action,” is turned till it comes in line with the axis of the gun, 


LEFAUCHEUX’S BREECH-LOADER. 


it throws a bolt into the “lump” attached to the underside of the bar- 
rels, and thus locks the breech-end of the barrels to the breech-action 
The lump and the slot into which the bolt fit are shown separately at S. 

The down-drop action of the barrels on opening the gun, and the 
mode of securing them to the breech-action by a bolt working in a 
lump fixed to the underside of the barrels, seen in Lefaucheux’s first 
breech-loader, has been universally adopted by gunmakers since his 
gun appeared in 1836. It has been greatly improved in the details 
of mechanism, but the general plan remains the same. The weakness 
in the locking of his barrels to the breech-action was soon found out, 
and has been remedied by numerous plans in which double and even 
triple bolts, further removed than his from the hinge-joint, have been 
used. 

The mechanisms invented for opening and for locking breech- 
loaders are so numerous, and the majority of them accomplished the 
object so perfectly, that one cannot fail to get a trustworthy gun if 
ordered of any maker of established reputation. In selecting as types 
two breech-loaders, one with hammers, the other hammerless, to illus- 
trate our remarks on the gun, we wish it distinctly understood that 
thereby we do not intend to convey the impression that we judge 


49 


77@ The Shot-Gun. 


these superior in all respects to those of other makers. Two had to 
be selected out of the numerous types now offered to sportsmen, and 
in doing so, we have selected two with which we have had much 
experience and which are undoubtedly excellent. 

Before proceeding to describe the modern breech-loading shot- 
gun, it is essential that the general reader be conversant with the 
names of the various parts of the gun, including the separate pieces 
composing the lock. 

The names of the parts of the stock are, A, the hand; B, the butt; 
H, the heel; T, the toe of the butt; C, the comb; F, the fore-end ; 
and G, the trigger-guard. 

The barrels are attached to the breech-action, the name given to 
the whole piece of iron X, Y, Z._ This is screwed firmly to the stock. 
The perpendicular part of this — shaped piece is called the break-off, 
because in muzzle-loaders the barrels could be separated from the 
rest of the gun at that place. The face of the break-off, against 
which the breech-end of the barrels tightly fits, is called the standing- 
breech, or false-breech. The barrels rotate on the breech-action 
around the hinge-joint, V. The lumps L and L, firmly dovetailed 


SECTION OF HAMMERLESS 
BREECH-ACTION. 


The Shot-Gun. 771 


between the barrels, have their surfaces wrought to portions of cylin- 
ders whose common center is the center of the hinge-joint. These 
cylindrical surfaces fit closely in the corresponding slots W, W cut 
in the breech-action. The cartridge-extractor is shown at R. It is 
worked by a cam attached to the fore-end. When the gun is opened, 
or “broken,” this cam presses forward the rod of the extractor, and 
pushes out the cartridges sufficiently to allow the fingers to remove 
them. P is the extension-rib which fits in a recess cut in the break- 
off. When the gun is closed, bolts enter the slots S,S* and the hole 
in the extension-rib, and firmly and securely lock the barrels to the 
breech-action. To unlock and open the gun, the top-lever, L, is 
pressed from left to right; this draws the bolts and the gun opens. 


PATENT TREBLE WEDGE-FAST GUN. 


This engraving shows the appearance of one of Mr. W. W. 
Greener’s guns when opened. The breech-action and locking gear 
just described are those of one of these guns. 

The parts of an ordinary bar-lock are shown on page 772. War- 
ren’s “Shooting, Boating, and Fishing” (Scribner and Sons, 1871). 


< 


The longer leg of the mainspring, 8, has a hook or claw at its end 
which rests on the pin of the swivel, shown linked to the right of the 
tumbler, 2. The action of this swivel is to increase instead of dimin- 
ishing the force of the spring as it unbends on the descent of the 
hammer, 3. The interposition of the swivel between the tumbler 
and mainspring causes the latter to act with increasing leverage on 
the tumbler as the spring unbends. This increasing leverage will be 
apparent to any one who will compare the pressure of the thumb 
on the hammer when it is just lifted with what it is just before the 
hammer catches at full cock. In the tumbler are cut two notches, 


772 The Shot-Gun. 


called bents. One of these, 
into which the sear, 5, falls 
when the hammer is at 
half-cock, is so deep and 
of such form that a pull on 
the trigger cannot force 
the sear out of it. The 
other is shallower, and so 
shaped that a pull on 
the trigger—generally of 
about four pounds—will 
disengage the sear and 
cause the hammer to strike 
on the striking or firing 
pins. The tumbler and sear 
work between the _ lock- 
plate, 1, and the bridle, 4, 
which isscrewed to the lock- 


ie) Net ; lh 


plate. The sear-spring, 6, 
constantly presses the end 
of the sear against the tum- 
bler. The tumbler has a 
journal which goes through 
the lock-plate, and to a 
square shoulder on_ this 


journal is secured the hammer by a screw, 7. 

An improvement was made in the above lock in 1869 by Mr. 
Stanton, of Wolverhampton, England. His lock is known as the 
rebounding lock, the peculiarity of which is that after the hammer 
has struck the striking-pin it flies back to half-cock. This is accom- 
plished by having the upper leg of the mainspring free, and extend- 
ing it so that it reaches under a projection on the tumbler. This 
projection falls on the upper leg of the mainspring just before the 

hammer strikes the firing-pin, and the projection of the tumbler thus 
forces the upper leg of the spring downward so far that the hammer 
reaches and strikes the firing-pin; but the next instant this portion 
of the spring throws up the projection on the tumbler, and thus brings 
the hammer to about one-eighth of an inch above the cap or firing-pin. 


The Shot-Gun. 773 


STANTON'S REBOUNDING LOCK, COCKED—FULL SIZE. 


In this position of the hammer the sear is just clear of the half- 
cock bent, so that if the hammer is pressed forward the sear closes in 
this bent and prevents its further motion toward the cap. No sports- 
man should think of buying a gun not furnished with these rebound- 
ing locks, which have so much diminished the risk of accidents. The 
peculiar points in the construction of this lock which we have de- 
scribed will be understood with the aid of the above engraving from 
“The Modern Sportsman’s Gun and Rifle,” by S. H. Walsh. 

If the sportsman understands the construction of the locks of his 
gun, he can readily take them apart, clean and oil them, and put 
them together. He is soimetimes required to do this after his gun 
has been exposed to the wet; especially after he has been shooting 
on the shores of bay and estuaries, where he is often exposed for 
hours to the spray of salt water. 

To Take Aparr a Locx.—(1) Take off the locks by unscrewing 
the side-pin which holds them together and binds them to the breech- 
action and stock. (2) Pull the hammer to full-cock, then clamp 
tightly the legs of the mainspring in a spring-cramp. (3) Relieve 
the sear from the bent and push the hammer forward; the main- 
spring will now come off in the jaws of the cramp. (4) Unscrew the 
bridle-pins and take off the bridle. (5) Take off the sear and then 
the sear-spring. (6) Take out the screw which holds the hammer 
on the tumbler, and, putting a brass punch on the arm or journal of 
the tumbler, knock the latter free of the hammer. 

To Pur rue Parts or a Lock ToGreTHEeR.—(1) Put on sear-spring. 
(2) Put on the tumbler. (3) Cramp the sear-spring, and then put on 
the sear so that it goes into the half-cock bent on the tumbler. (4) 
Screw bridle to lock-plate. (5) Take the mainspring in the cramp 
and hook it on to the swivel, and force the stud on mainspring into its 
hole in the lock-plate; then press mainspring down quite close to 


409A 


774 The Shot-Gun. 


HAMMERLESS GUN, 


lock-plate. Now, on removing the spring-cramp, the lock is ready 
to have the hammer placed on the tumbler. (6) To do this, place 
the lock on a wooden block, and drive the hammer on to the square 
shoulder of: the journal of the tumbler; then put in the screw that 
binds the hammer firmly to the tumbler. 

We have given a description of a breech-loader with hammers in’ 
referring to Mr. W. W. Greener’s table-bolt and extension-rib gun. As 
type of hammerless guns, we select this of Mr. Sneider, of Baltimore. 

The accompanying figures and appended descriptions will show 
clearly the peculiarities of this gun. The safety action is excellent. 
By the forward rotation of the milled wheel in the end of the top 
lever, a bolt is put on the sears and holds them so effectually that no 
pull on the trigger or jar to the gun can set them free of the catches 
in the hammer-carrier, and there is no necessity of setting free the 
sears till the instant of firing. The gun is held ‘ready ” with the 
index-finger under the guard and the ball of the thumb on the safety- 
wheel. At the moment the bird rises the gun is thrown against the 
shoulder, and with this motion the thumb’can naturally rotate the 
safety-wheel backward and take off the lock on the sears. This 
movement is soon acquired by the sportsman, and when it becomes 
automatic to him it adds 
greatly to his assurance of 
safety from accidents. | 

This represents the breech 
and part of the fore-end of 
the Sneider hammerless gun; 
also the lock with lock-plate 


The Shot-Gun. 775 


removed. The operations of the various parts are as follows: When 
the gun is opened to load, the pushing lever, Q, is forced by the cam- 
shaped surface, P, in fore-end, against the hammer-carrier, E, pushing 
it backward against the hammer, G, and bringing it to full-cock, where 
it is held by the interlocking of the hooks on the hammer-carrier, E, and 
sear, H. By pulling the trigger, the sear is pressed upward, thereby 
releasing the hammer-carrier, E, which is driven forward by the main- 
spring, taking with it the hammer, G, and exploding the cartridge. 

To set the gun at safety, press forward the button, D, on the end 
of lever, which, pushing the bolt, F, against arm of the sear, causes a 
rigid interlocking of the two hooks. This is a positive locking, and 
prevents all danger of the gun jarring off, which is possible if the 
safety-bolt only presses against the triggers. On the hammer- 
carrier, E, is a nut, I, for regulating the tension of the mainspring, K. 
To let the hammers down from full-cock, open the 
back both triggers while closing. 


gun and hold 

The slot in hammer-carrier, E, is shaped in such a way that when 
the hammer is forced down upon the strikers to explode the charge 
there is room left behind the shoulder of the hammer to allow it to 
go back again from the striker, relieving the same instantly from 
contact with the cartridge, thus making a rebounding hammer at 
once simple and effective. Although, from the secure and positive 
locking of the hammer-carrier, E, and the sear, H, there is no danger 
of jarring off, even when the safety-bolt is not in place, yet the lock 
is provided with an extra catch, 2, which will assist the fall of the 
hammer before striking the firing-pin, if by any means the jarring off 
of the hammer should occur. 

At 1, inthe figure, is seen a gas-chamber which communicates with 
the holes of the firing-pins. If any gas should blow back it will go 
into this gas-chamber, and thence escape by vent-holes in the stand- 
ing-breech, and not go into the locks. This action of the gases 
on the locks has been one of the objections to hammerless guns. 

The cut on page 776 shows Sneider’s double-grip top-lever gun, 
with all its parts, cut in half, and the gun ready for insertion of cartridge. 

The top-grip, B, inserted from above, is held from below by nut, 
E; the lower grip, C, inserted from below, rests against the solid 
breech, the square hole in C receiving the square shank of B, so that 
when B is turned, C must turn also. The interlocking of the upper- 


776 The Shot-Gun. 


grip, B, with the lug, F, prevents any and all springing of the barrels 
and breech at this point. Any wear on B can be taken up by tight- 
ening nut, E, without altering the position of C; and any wear on C, 
by screwing downward the second nut, E, on shank of B, without 
altering position of B. To prevent the nut, E, from getting loose, a 
steel washer with a tongue fits between it and the face of the breech. 
Thus, with the two pieces B and C and the nuts E E is formed a perfect 
double-grip action, allowing compensation for wear, requiring nothing 
further, if strength alone is considered. To keep the grips and the 
lug, F, and hook, D, from wearing by continual contact, stop L enters 
into a notch on the underside of grip, C, when the gun is opened, 
holding the grip out of the way until the barrels are brought home, 
when L is depressed by lower lug, D, and the grips allowed to swing 
into their locking position. The gun is made self-closing by the 
spring, K, bearing against a stud on C, bringing the grips home when 
released from the hele of L. The strain on the hinge when the 
barrels drop is entirely obviated by the shoulder-lug, D, coming in 
contact with check, J. This check works exactly like the bolt which 
holds the front stock to the barrels. Wear on hinge is taken up by 
compensating hinge-bolt. 

Mr. Sneider claims for this Reroute That with four pieces, B, Be 
E, C,a perfect double-grip gun is formed; that, without affecting the 
strength of the action, it is made self-closing, by spring, K, and 
the movement, and consequently the wear upon the parts lessened 
exactly one-half by the introduction of stop, L; that the strain on 
the hinge-bolt is entirely overcome by check, J; and that means of 
compensation is supplied at every point where wear can occur in a 
breech-loader—on B by nut E, on C by nut, and on hinge-bolt by 


THREE-TWIST BARREL. 


The Shot-Gun. 777 


FOUR-TWIST BARREL. 


compensating bolt, and that this compensation can be made at any 
one of these points without affecting the position of the other pieces. 

GUN-BARRELS.—It is needless, in a work of the general character 
of this one, to go into a lengthy description of the details of the proc- 
esses employed in making gun-barrels; but a general account of the 
operations in their manufacture may be of interest to the sportsman, 
in serving to give clearer ideas on the differences in the texture of the 
twist, Damascus, and Jaminated steel barrels which are now used. 
The twist barrel is often called stub-twist, from the stubs of horse- 
shoe nails out of which these barrels were first made. These stubs 
and other “scraps” are welded together, drawn into bars, then heated, 
and while one end is in a notch, or clamp, the other end of the rod 
is attached to the axis of a crank and twisted. At present, these rods 
are made of selected iron, the supply and quality of stubs having 
fallen off. These twisted rods are now beaten into flat bars and then 
wrapped around a mandrel, and their edges are welded together. 
This forms the twist barrel. 

The Damascus barrel is formed by taking nearly equal propor- 
tions of refined iron and steel bars. These are placed in piles, or 
“fagoted,” and then heated and thoroughly welded together. The 
bar thus formed is cut into equal lengths, again ‘“fagoted,” welded 
under a trip-hammer, drawn into narrow rods, and these are then 
twisted. To make the best Damascus barrel, three of these twisted 
rods are placed alongside of each other, and forged into a ribbon 
of the dimensions of cross-section of one-half inch by seven-six- 
teenths for the breech-end of the barrel, and one-half by three-six- 
teenths of an inch for the muzzle-end. This ribbon is now wrapped 
around a mandrel, and its convolutions are firmly welded together at 
a white heat by hammering the ribbon on the mandrel while placed 
in a semi-cylindrical groove. Another portion is added to that just 


TWO SPIRALS WELDED TOGETHER IN THE MIDDLE. 


vr HKe| The Shot-Gun. 


formed by “jumping” and hammering till the length of the barrel is 
completed. 

Laminated steel barrels are formed of ribbons composed of six 
parts of steel to four of iron, and the only difference between lamin- 
ated steel-and Damascus barrels is that the ribbons composing the 
former are made of rods less twisted; but the ribbons are subjected 
to more hammering when on the mandrel, in order to get greater 
condensation and firm welding of the fibers of the two metals. 

Tue Province or GuN-BARRELS.— The law in England requires 
gun-barrels, whether of domestic or foreign make, to be subjected to 
proof before they can be offered for sale when part of a gun. The 
barrels are subjected to two proofs. The first is called provisional, 
the second defxitive proof. There are two companies in England 
authorized by law to prove gun-barrels. The one at London is 
called the London Gunmakers Company; the other, at Birmingham, 
is the Birmingham Guardians. The tests are precisely the same at 
both places. Barrels to be subjected to provisional proof are bored 
and ground, and plugs are screwed into their breeches. In these 
plugs the touch-hole is drilled. In the following table are given the 
charges used in provisional and definitive proofs of the gauges of guns 
given in the first column. I have added a column of usual loads for 
these guns with which to compare the charges used in the proof-house : 


Gonee oD (Dm of bore V3 inlvion of Wolfe WWE ieee Over 
4 1.052 inch. 1649 gTs. 928 grs. = 202.2 drs, 580 grs. = 15% drs. 12to15 drs. 234 oz. shot.* 
8 2835; “= Sr2015* ABT ee — art Soar zor ‘© =11 7 Samer «ican OS 
10 Fs 64x * aya S| 73360) a2 ee el 74 ae 
12 n720) <5 535i ae. 350 = 1256 A E210 a Oe Cy el wal 9 
16 36021) “< 399 “ 2950 10% ‘‘ [S50 se — 0571 Bey (se Sr or 


Over the charge of powder used in either proof is rammed a cork 
wad. Over this is placed the bullet, which is also covered with a cork 
wad. In testing choke-bored barrels, the bullet is replaced by the 
same weight of shot of No. 6, English. In the definitive proof, the 
barrels have to be presented to the company in a finished state and 
attached to their breech-loading actions. It is prohibited by law to 
reduce the weight of these barrels, after the company has stamped 
them to show that they have received the provisional and definitive 
proofs. The stamps used by the London Gunmakers Company on 
LB-OR ee i eo cen oO ae barrels is as follows : 12 Bex 

14 M stand respectively for twelve gauge 
at breech, fourteen gauge at muzzle. 


* Single-barrel ducking-gun of 20 pounds weight. 


The Shot-Gun. 779 


This stamp is that used by the \& 4 wes 


. . - = v/: i 9.2 B 
Guardians of the Birmingham Proof- ct XE NOT FOR BALL 
house: YS G&8 


An examination of the table shows that the charge of powder 
used in provisional proof is about 3% times the average field 
charge, and in definitive proof it is about 2% times the field 
charge. The ball, or charge of shot, has very little more weight 
than the average charge used by the sportsman. 

Belgium is the only country, besides England, whose laws require 
the proving of gun-barrels. At the Liege proof-house, each breech- 
loader is proved thrice. First, the barrels are tested, then the barrels 
and breech-action, and finally the finished gun. The proof charges 
for a twelve-gauge gun are a bullet, or acharge of shot weighing 
34 grammes. Twenty-two grammes of powder are used in the 
first proof, 15 grammes in the second, and 7 grammes in the 
third proof. 

The following are the Belgium proof-marks : 

To Test THE STRAIGHTNESS OF THE BorE OF A GUN-BARREL.— 
The barrels of high-priced guns are not always straight. They 
may have been so before they were soldered together and ribbed, 
but these operations often draw and bend the barrels. The straight- 
ness of a barrel can be readily tested by any purchaser in the 
following manner: Take a thin card-board wad of the gauge of 
the gun, and with a pair of dividers get its center. Perforate 
this center with a pinhole. Place the muzzle of the gun on the 
Hoor, and push the wad from the breech till it reaches the floor at 
the muzzle-end of the gun. Now point the barrel toward the bright 
sky or at the porcelain shade of a lamp. Place the breech of the 
barrel quite close to the eye and look at the brightly illuminated 
pinhole. You will see this hole in the axis of the barrel. Around 
it, as a center, you will observe three or four bright rings. If the 
barrel be straight these rings will be perfectly concentric, with the 
pinhole for their common center. If the barrel be bent, say to the 
left, then the circles will appear as, if slid to the left of the central 
pinhole; the direction in which the circles appear displaced cor- 
responds to the direction in which the barrel is bent. 

The above is a severe test, and there are few barrels that will 
stand it. A similar test, though less searching, may be applied by 
merely placing the breech very close to the eye and looking through 


780 The Shot-Gun. 


the barrel directed to the bright sky, when you will observe the open- 
ing of the muzzle and, surrounding it, three or four bright, broad 
rings, which will all be concentric with the bright circle of the muzzle 
if the barrel be straight.* 
A study of the accom- 
panying carefully drawn 
diagram will show how 
these circles are produced 


by the reflections of the 

light of the pinhole from 

the sides of the barrels. 
Gunmakers use a meth- 


od of testing called ‘‘ shad- 

ing,” which is applied by holding the breech a few inches from the 
eye and looking through the barrel at the top of a window-sash and 
seeing if its image has straight edges as it appears reflected along 
the sides of the interior of the barrels. 

The choke of a gun, and the dimensions of any part of the bore, 
may be examined by long-legged calipers supplied with a spring 
and an index-gauge ; or, by well oiling the interior of the barrel and 
then taking a plaster cast of it, on which measures can be made 
with a pair of vernier calipers. 

CHOKE-BORED BarRELS.—It is not possible to state who was the 
first inventor of choke-boring. It is probable that one or another 
of the different modes of boring, which differ from that producing a 
plain cylinder, has been used from time to time during the past one 
hundred years; but it is certain that our countryman, Joseph W. 
Long, first called public attention to the excellence of the system 
of choke-boring. From this country the knowledge of its merits 
went to England, and now choke-boring is practiced by gunsmiths 
throughout the world. 


* The reader may amuse himself with a few experiments which will make clear to 
him the philosophy of these methods of testing gun-barrels. Take two or three glass 
tubes about one-half inch in bore and eighteen inches long. One of these tubes should 
be as straight as can be selected at the glassware dealers. The other should appear 
evidently bent or curved. Cover the outside of these tubes with black varnish or 
cloth, so as to exclude the light. Close one end of each tube with a circle of card-board 
with a pinhole in its center. On looking through the tubes, you will see the circles 
concentric with the pinhole in the straight tube and eccentric in the curved ones. 


The Shot-Gun. 781 


As far back as 1787, M. Magné de Marolles, in “La Chasse au 
Fusil,” gave an account of choke-boring. But he did not commend 
the system, which he thought, if advantageous, would greatly increase 
the recoil of the gun. Colonel Hawker, in ‘Instructions to Young 
Sportsmen,” London, 1814, had very strong opinions against choke- 
bores. We next find mention of choke-boring in 1835, in Deyeux’s 
We Vieux Chasseur.” 

Mr. Long, in his ‘American Wild-Fowl Shooting,” N. Y., 1879, 
gives the invention of a really successful mode of choke-boring to Jere- 
miah Smith, of Rhode Island, who discovered its merits in 1827. From 
him it was learned by Nathaniel Whitman, of Mansfield, Mass., and 
the method was practiced by Joseph Tonks, of Boston, who, in 1870, 
made such a remarkably close shooting gun for Mr. Long that he 
informed his brother sportsmen of its remarkable power, and these 
choke-bores of Tonks came rapidly in favor with duck-shooters. In 
1872, he explained this mode of boring to a gunsmith named John- 
son, of Monmouth, IIl., who subsequently rebored to a choke the 
guns of many sportsmen. In 1872, Robert M. Faburn took out a 
patent for an expanding-bit, which gave to barrels a relief near the 
muzzle, producing what is known as the “jug,” or “tulip choke.” 
But Faburn’s mode of boring was not that practiced by Tonks ; the 
latter, Mr. Long says, bored his barrel a true cylinder from the 
breech to where the construction began near the muzzle. This is the 
mode of boring which Mr. Greener has claimed as his invention, and 
he no doubt invented it, but many years subsequent to Mr. Tonks’s 
practice of it. Mr. Long states that Tonks’s choke-boring doubled 
the closeness of pattern on the target at forty yards and increased its 
killing range by twenty-five yards. 

The choke-bore now almost universally adopted by gunmakers 
is as follows: Taking a twelve-gauge gun as.an example, the con- 
struction of the bore from the front of the breech-chamber to within 
one and a half inch of the muzzle amounts to about ;j,th of an 
inch. At one and a half inch from the muzzle begins a sharp con- 
traction which, in the length of one inch, equals ;¢ooth of an inch. 
The last half inch of the bore is a true cylinder. 

The guns usually used by sportsmen are of 4, 8, 10, 12, and 16 
gauges. The charges of powder and shot with which these different 
gauges are loaded are as follows: 

The four-bore gun is a single 44-inch barrel gun, weighing about 


782 The Shot-Gun. 


20 lbs. This gun is used in “ point shooting” at ducks on the Ches- 
apeake. It is charged with from 12 to 15 drams of powder, similar 
to Hazard’s No. 5 or to Dupont’s No. 1, and with 2% ozs. of shot. 

An eight-bore double-barrel gun weighs about 15 lbs., and is 
charged with 7 to 8 drams of powder and with 156 to 134 oz. of shot. 
The powder used in this gun is similar in quality and texture to that 
used in the No. 4 gauge. 

A ten-bore gun weighs about ro lbs., and its load is from 4 to 5 
drams of powder and about 1% oz. of shot. In this gauge, and in 
the twelve-bore, I have found that the best powder is one similar to 
Hazard’s No. 4 duck-shooting powder. 

A twelve-bore carries a charge of from 3 to 334 drams of powder, 
and from I oz. to 1% oz. of shot. 

The sixteen-gauge is loaded with from 2 to 3 drams of powder, 
and with 34 oz. to1 oz. of shot. In this gauge of gun, use a powder 
like “Hazard’s No. 4” or ‘‘Dupont’s choke-bore” powder. 

The charges of powder and shot which will give the best shoot- 
ing of a given gun must be determined by the sportsman himself. 
The load depends on the weight of the gun, on the length and 
texture of the barrels, and on the manner in which these are bored. 

To get the charge best suited to a gun, use the smallest quan- 
tity of shot that will give the desired closeness of pattern, driven 
with the largest charge of powder which, together with the load of 
shot, will give a recoil which will not produce any disagreeable 
effects on the shoulder, head, or eyes of the shooter. You will then 
have obtained the three conditions essential to the best shooting of 
this particular gun, viz.: First, such closeness of pattern that the 
game does not escape between the pellets; secondly, a high velocity 
in the shot, giving penetration and range *; and, thirdly, comfort to 
the shooter. To show how different guns of the same gauge may 
vary in their charge in order to produce accord in the above-named 
three conditions, we will cite experience with three twelve-gauge 
‘guns in our possession. They are of different weights, differ in the 
lengths of barrels, and they are bored differently. In order to get 
the conditions I have mentioned, one of them in the closest accord 
has to be charged with 3% drams of powder and 1% oz. of shot; 


* The great advantage of the choke-bore is, that from the closeness with which it 
throws shot, the charge of the latter may be much reduced, when compared with the 
charge the cylinder-bore requires to give the same closeness of pattern. 


The Shot-Gun. 783 


the second, with 3% drams of powder and 11'% oz. of shot; and the 
third, with 3 drams of powder and 1 oz. of shot. The last gun gives 
the best results in the field. 

The recoil of a gun is greater than one on first thought would 
suppose. If a twelve-gauge gun of 7% lbs. weight is held against 
the shoulder with a pressure of 80 lbs., it will, when discharged 
with a load of 3% drams of powder and 1% oz. of shot, give a 
blow of 30 lbs. to the shooter. A 16-gauge gun, with 234 drams 
of powder and 1 oz. of shot, will have a recoil of 20 Ibs. above 
the 80 lbs. of pressure against the shoulder; while a 20-gauge, 
charged with 21% drams of powder and 7 of an oz. of shot, will 
give a push of 15 lbs. above the 80 lbs. of pressure against the 
shoulder. Often the recoil is such that, though not noticed after 
only a few shots, separated by considerable intervals, it becomes 
disagreeable, and even painful, to the shoulder, and especially to the 
head and eyes, after many shots have been made in rapid succes- 
sion; therefore the sportsman, in adjusting his load for recoil, should 
consider whether he is to shoot only occasionally, as in the greater 
portion of the shooting over dogs, or whether he is to make a great 
many shots in rapid succession, as in shooting bay-snipe, rails, or, 
sometimes, in duck-shooting. 

Whether the 10, 12, or 16 gauge is the best for upland shooting 
depends on the endurance and weight of the sportsman, on the dis- 
tances at which shots are offered, and whether these are in the open 
or in covert. Taking the best performance of each of these gauges, 
the advantages of penetration, pattern, and range lie with the larger 
gauge. A 12-bore, taking all in all, is, in our opinion, the best 
for shooting over dogs, either in the open or in covert. Whether it 
shall have both barrels full-choked, or one barrel full-choked and the 
other either cylinder-bore or modified choke, and whether the barrels 
shall be long or short, depends on the kind of “ shot” the sportsman 
is. In these matters he must, as in selecting the charges for his gun, 
decide from his experience what best suits him. To lay down laws 
on these matters to which all sportsmen should conform is evidently 
absurd. If a sportsman is slight of build and of moderate powers 
of endurance, let him select a light 12-gauge gun of 7 lbs. weight 
or a 16-gauge of 6 lbs. If his favorite sport is shooting Bob White 
and woodcock, and he can afford only one gun, then let him get a 
16-gauge, of weight from 6 to 6% lbs., with barrels of 26 inches in 


784 The Shot-Gun. 


length. Let his first barrel be cylinder-bore and his second either 
a modified or full choke, and he will not go far astray. 

In deciding whether he shall have a barrel full-choke, modified- 
choke, or cylinder, he should remember that a 12-gauge full-choked 
gun will put 200 pellets of No. 7 Tatham shot in a target 30 inches 
in diameter at 40 yards distant, while a cylinder barrel of same 
gauge will, in similar circumstances, put in 120 to 130; and also that 
the smaller gauges of 16 and 20 generally throw their shot sufh- 
ciently close and regular without any choke, or, at least, with very 
little. Indeed this, I infer, is the reason why these small bores 
were in such great repute among upland shooters before the intro- 
duction of choke-bored barrels. 

The difference between carrying the weight of a 7% ora 6 |b. 
gun, while trifling to some men, is to others the difference between 
weariness and cheerfulness. 

ReLaTive WEIGHTS OF THE SAME MEASURE OF DIFFERENT SIZES 
or Suor.—The amounts of powder and shot in the charges of guns 
are not weighed but measured. From time to time, discussions have 
arisen among sportsmen as to the relative weights of the same 
measure of different sizes of shot, and the subject is of sufficient 
importance to demand a careful examination. To get the weight of 
an ounce measure of each size of shot, I weighed, in an accurate 
balance, 50 measures-full of the given sized shot, and divided the 
weight by 50. The measure used is known as Dixon's, and is 
the one generally used by sportsmen. The shot used was of the 
American standard sizes, made by Tatham Brothers, to whom we 
are indebted for their courtesy in furnishing us with sizes made 
with new and carefully graduated sieves. 


Excess of 

Vo. of pellets to Wet. in grains of we. of meas- 

1 03. of 437% 1 03. of Dixon's ured 0%. Over 

No. of shot. Diam. of pellet. grains. Measure. 43714 gs. 

I Se 0.16 inch. Ores 71 Ne 447.1 35 9.8 
2 press 64 ae 86 age 459.0 eS IS 
3 ome, ut 106 oe 455:5 tis ESsO 
4 ONG Beg ee 132 a te 467.7 se, 3 022 
5 OnL 20 i 8 168 Aoi 464.3 Sot, AGIs! 
6 OsDiy Ke ay 218 ot a 470.4 Be OG) 
7 pie ome 291 qk 479-2 ome eae, 
8 0:09), “ ae 399 ane 477-7 “eA One 
9 0.08 =“ con 568 od 482.4 | Ee edaeg) 
10 CH) eo 848 Bal 487.5 a Be) EHS) 
11 0.06 “* anes 1346 Sea 489.5 2 i EEO 
12 Gos BP k. 2326 iN 491.3 eso 


The Shot-Gun. 785 


ie et 


195 


485 


475 


GRAINS. 


465 


455 


445 ms a) | 


8 9 TOMI Dic) 


NUMBERS OF SIZES OF SHOT. 


In the above diagram are shown at a glance the relations 
between the 1 oz. measure full of shot of different sizes and their 
respective weights. The sizes of shot are given on the horizontal 
line and the weight on the left-hand vertical line. Each division of 
the vertical scale equals one grain in weight. It will be observed 
that the weight of the ounce measure full of shot increases with the 
smallness of the pellet. The irregularities from a smooth curve 
observed belonging to shot of the sizes 3, 5, 8, and 11, are due 
to the fact that the diameters of the pellets of these sizes are such 
that they do not chamber in the measure as closely as those of the 
other sizes. 

This is at once seen in making the comparison of the chambering 
in the bottom of the measure of one layer of 2 and 3, 4 and 5, or 7 
and 8. 

This particular shot-measure gives too much weight for all the 
sizes. A measure of No. 1 shot is about 10 grains in excess of the 
ounce of 437% grains, while a measure of No. 12 is 54 grains too 
heavy. The difference in the weights of a measure full of No. 1 
and No. 12 is 44 grains; in other words, a measure of No. 12 shot 
weighs a little more than ;45 of an ounce more than a measure of 
No. 1, while the difference in weight of a measure of No. 7 and 
No. 12 shot equals about 35 of an ounce. 


50 


786 The Shot-Gun. 


EXPERIMENTS ON THE VELOCITIES OF CHARGES OF VARIOUS SIZED 
SuHor DiscHARGED FROM GuNS OF TWELVE AND TEN GAUGE, WITH 
APPLICATIONS OF THESE EXPERIMENTS TO THE ART OF SHOOTING 
on THE Winc.—In the year 1880, I made very many experiments 
on the velocity of fowling-piece shot that may be of interest to the 
sportsman, as they have given facts which lie at the foundation of the 
theory of shooting on the wing. The knowledge of these facts, 
while they may serve to guide the experienced sportsman in his 
shooting, will not make a crack shot, no more than an elaborate 
description of how to play on the violin will make a violinist. Prac- 
tice alone will make a good marksman. The knowledge of the facts 
relating to the velocity of shot will, however, often serve to explain 
to the sportsman the causes of his failures to bring down birds 
on the wing, and may call his attention to defects in his style of 
shooting that practice may correct. : 

DESCRIPTION OF THE CHRONOSCOPE USED IN THE EXPERIMENTS ON 
THE VELOCITY OF SHOT, AND A DETERMINATION OF THE MAGNITUDE OF 
THE Error IN its Resutts.—The chronoscope used in these experi- 
ments is very simple. It consists of a metal cylinder turning on an 
axle on which is cut a screw. This screw moves in a stationary nut, 
and this arrangement gives the cylinder a lateral motion when it 
is revolved on its axle. The cylinder is covered with fine printing 
paper, which is then smoked with burning camphor. A tuning-fork 
is screwed into one end of a thick piece of wood. The other end of 
this piece of wood is hinged to a base. To the end of one of the 
prongs of the fork is cemented with shellac a small, triangular piece 
of foil. The fork is vibrated by a bow, and then the hinged board is 
brought down against a stop so adjusted that the point of the foil on 
the fork just touches the smoked paper. On now turning the cyl- 
inder, a wavy trace will be written on it by the vibrations of the fork. 

To determine the number of vibrations made in one second by 
the fork, a good clock, accurately rated, sent at each second an 
electric spark from an induction coil out of the tracing-point and 
through the paper. Thus the sinuous traces of the fork were 
punctured by electric sparks. The number of waves of the fork’s 
trace contained between two of these punctures is the number of 
vibrations made by the fork in one second. <A multitude of experi- 
ments showed that the range of the determination of the number 


The Shot-Gun. 787 


of vibrations per second of the fork was very small, and_ the 
means of several such measures did not vary from one another by 
more than one-tenth of a vibration, or, expressed in time, the varia- 
tion did not surpass the z3';5th of a second. This fact showed that 
the chronoscope, so far as its records were concerned, was sufficiently 
constant and accurate for measures on the velocity of projectiles. 

The effect of temperature on the vibratory period of the fork had 
been determined in a previous research. It amounts to an increase 
of .000045 of the periodic time of the fork’s vibration for an increase 
of 1 deg. Fahr. in the temperature of the fork. 

The guns used in the experiments had rebounding locks. The 
primary current of an induction-coil passed through a break-piece 
fixed under the rebounding hammer, so that at the instant the 
cartridge was exploded the electric current was broken and then 
immediately formed again. The current which passed through 
this break-piece was led by a wire to an upright piece of tin plate 
whose front surface leaned against a thick copper wire. Another 
wire led from the tin plate (which stood in a shallow trough of mer- 
cury) back to the battery. One terminal of the secondary coil of the 
inductorium is connected with the axis of the metal cylinder, the 
other terminal with the foot of the fork. 

This chronoscope is worked as follows: One person vibrates the 
fork with a bow, and then brings the pointed foil down on the 
smoked paper and rotates the cylinder. While the fork is marking 
its sinuous trace he cries “fire,” and the other person discharges 
the gun at the tin plate. At the instant the cartridge explodes, a 
minute spark issues from the tracing-point of the fork and cuts a 
small hole through the blackened paper in the sinuous trace of the 
fork; and when the tin plate is knocked over by the shot, another 
similar spark flies from the tracing-point. 

We know the distance between the breech of the gun and the 
tin plate; the number of flexures in the trace of the fork contained 
between the two spark-holes gives the time the shot took to go over 
the known distance, whence the velocity of the shot per second is 
readily computed. 

The fork used in these experiments made about 256 vibrations, 
or flexures, in the trace in one second; so, if there should appear 32 
flexures between the two spark-holes, the record would give 3%%sths, 
or one-eighth of a second for the time of flight of the shot from the 


788 The Shot-Gun. 


gun to the distant target. Two guns were used in these experi- 
ments, one of 12 the other of 10 gauge. They were “ full choke- 
bored,” and were choked exactly alike. They were made by the 
Colt Arms Manufacturing Co., of Hartford, Ct. 

The following tables give the results of our experiments : 


I. ro Colt gun, 5 drs. Curtis & Harvey III. 12 Colt gun, 3% drs. Curtis & Har- 


powder, 14 oz. shot. vey powder, 11% oz. of shot. 

Size of Shot. Vel. 30 yds. Vel. go yds. Vel. 50 yds. Size of Shot. Vel. 30 yds. Vel. go yds. Vel. 50 yds. 
NO: buck ar DG 30a LOO// sae No. rbuck. — .. —.. — 
| Mee 7 ees hanno yy eg ema e lol PS Pe EN eRe 
BB g),2) sRtdO Ree, ueO. ee BIBS ay cose i (SORE. oi LOL weemmOy 
INOsasi: ~~ LOOOP ure LOUSY. OZS  MMINOlmeteaust cl Od dae nit 7/54 lemme 
No. 6. LOT? Sn OORT mE mon G IN (@sy ides a eksswiamion ule). o.oo (ers: 
No} (8: Cys ob eso 6 yk No. 8 SUG) nan 7/4 OM eeneOoH 
INOY HONS 5 FG} a lek 2g 9fild No. 10 7OOe=, = \OSOM mbar 


II. ro Colt gun, 4 drs. Curtis & Harvey | IV. 12 Colt gun, 4 drs. Curtis & Harvey 


powder, 114 oz. shot. powder, 114 oz. of shot. 

INOS buCK? moO WrOTG |] = —— Nos! (80.0.5, i847 2. 22. sats Oya 
PE eo i ese LOL ey COGN i= OO INONTOM ical. 74m ois) SO Mem 
BB ty = selOOO. ea OO 7a re a mISO7, 

INOS Geo 6 eee) ie a Wynn og 5) eye 

INGE Cha wan eG) Eis 5 flols 

INORG) Galiag CHO 5 esl haa GE 

INGISTOke Ree OA Ouaay og 7/5 OMe OOO ssn 


Each measure of velocity given in these tables is the mean value 
obtained from several experiments, varying in number from three to 
six. The headings, ‘velocity 30, 40, and 50 yards,” mean that the 
numbers under them give the average velocities of the flight of shot 
over these distances, and not the velocities at 30, 40, and 50 yards 
from the gun. 

It will be observed that the shot used were Nos. ro, 8, 6, 3, BB, 
FF, and No. 1 buckshot. They were so selected because a pellet 
of any number in the above series weighs very nearly double the 
preceding one. Thus, a pellet of No. 8 weighs double one of No. 
10, a pellet of No. 6 weighs double one of No. 8, and so on. 
These relations of weight among the pellets were obtained so that 
I could readily reach the relations existing between the velocity 
of gunshot and the weight, of the pellet. The shot used was 
kindly furnished me by Tatham & Bros., of New York, who used 
carefully gauged sieves in their manufacture. The powder used was 


The Shot-Gun. 789 


Curtis & Harvey’s Diamond Grain No.6. The powder and shot in each 
cartridge fired had been carefully weighed out in an accurate balance. 

A glance at the tables at once shows the rapid increase in the 
velocity of gunshot from No. 10 up to No. 3. With the heavier 
pellets the increase in velocity is less marked. Thus the table 


headed “10 Colt gun, 4 drs. Curtis & Harvey, 1% 0z. shot” shows 
that No. 8 shot has 72 feet per second velocity over No. to shot, 
and No. 6 has 46 feet over No. 8, while No. 3 has only 23 feet over 
No. 6, and BB shot gains only 11 feet over No. 3. 

The relations between velocity and weight of pellet shown in 
this table may be taken as a type of all the experiments, and I 
have graphically shown their relations in the accompanying curve. 

The divisions on the scale, measured from the bottom line up- 
ward, give the velocity per second of the pellets. One unit on this 
scale equals 20 feet of flight of a pellet, and a unit of the scale, 
measured from right to left on the diagram, equals one unit of weight 
of pellet. The weight of a pellet of No. 10 shot is here taken as the 
unit of weight. The numbers of the shot are written under the hori- 
zontal line ; the velocities on the vertical line. When the curve inter- 
sects these lines, we find the velocity given on the vertical scale 
corresponding to the number or weight of shot given on the hori- 
zontal line of the diagram. 

So far as the experiments with these two special guns show, 
there is no doubt a great superiority in the 10 over the 12 gauge 
gun, when each is loaded with the same weight of powder and shot. 

5OA 


790 The Shot-Gun. 


Thus, with the same charge of powder and shot, 4 drs. powder and 


1% oz. shot, fired from the 10-gauge, gives a velocity of 100 feet 
I 


per second more than that given by the 12-gauge. This fact is con- 
clusively shown in the comparison of the figures in the two tables 
headed ‘‘10 Colt gun, 4 drs. C. & H. powder, and 1% oz. shot” and “12 
Colt gun, 4 drs. C. & H. powder, and 14% oz. shot.” The difference 
in velocity was in favor of the 10-gauge in each of the sixty separate 
experiments, which were made to get the numbers (contained in the 
above-mentioned tables) on the lines of No. 8 and No. 10 shot. 

With No. 10 shot the mean velocity given by the 1o-gauge gun 
over the first 30 yards is 848 feet. With the same charge in the 
12-gauge the velocity is 748 feet, showing a difference of 100 feet in 
favor of the 10-gauge. With No. 8 shot the difference amounts to 
72 feet. The average difference in favor of the 10-gauge in the 
flight of shot Nos. 8 and 10 over 40 yards amounts to 110 feet. 

If we assume, as we certainly may without grave error, that the 
penetration of shot varies as the square of its velocity, these experi- 
ments will give the relative penetrations of the 10 to the 12 gauge 
about as 9 is to 7. These experiments show that the recent move- 
ment in favor of small-bore guns is one in the wrong direction. It 
appears that a 10-gauge gun, if of about 8 lbs. weight, would be the 
best fowling-piece for upland shooting. 

That the 10-gauge shows such superiority over the 12 may be 
accounted for by the fact that the same charge occupies less length in 
a 10 than it does ina 12 bore, and hence there are fewer pellets in con- 
tact with the barrel of the former than of the latter to oppose by their 
friction the projectile force of the powder; and secondly, the powder in 
a 10-gauge is exploded nearer the center of its volume, and thus does 
not have so much chance of blasting before it the unburnt powder con- 
tained in the portion of the charge removed from the point of ignition. 

I also venture to predict that with the same weight of barrels the 
1o-gauge will not heat as much as the 12, because the motion of the 
shot, lost by the greater resistance it opposes in a 12-gauge cartridge, 
must appear in the form of heat. 

The third fact which these experiments show is that with 14% oz. 
of shot and 3% drs. of powder an average velocity is obtained which 
requires 4 drs. of powder to give 1% oz. of shot a velocity equal to that 
given by 3% drs. to 1% oz. Now, 4 drs. of powder, if not fired from 


The Shot-Gun. 791 


a gun weighing at least g lbs., and from a good, strong, muscular 
shoulder, is disagreeable. The effect on the body, and especially on 
the brain, is neither conducive to pleasant nor to good shooting. The 
number of pellets in a charge of 1% oz. of No. 8 shot is 499. Ina 
charge of 13% oz. of the same shot there are 449, therefore only 50 
pellets more in a charge of 1% oz. than in a charge of 1% oz.; and 
surely the want of the 50 will not cause a good shot to miss his bird 
with 449 pellets, nor will the addition of the 50 give a bad shot any 
more chance of bringing his bird to bag with his 499 pellets. 

There are two styles of shooting on the wing. One is called 
‘“snap-shooting,” where the shooter, on selecting the bird which he 
wishes to bag, quickly brings the gun to his shoulder and, at the 
instant it is in place, fires. If the bird is a cross-shot, he deter- 
mines, at the moment of fire, the distance to which he should direct 
his gun ahead of its flight, this distance depending on the velocity of 
the bird’s flight and on his distance from it. This manner of shooting 
is practiced the more generally By upland gunners in shooting quail, 
grouse, and woodcock. 

The other style of shooting may be designated as “the swing- 
shot,” in which the gunner swings his gun aye of the cross flight 
of the bird till he attains the proper distance ahead of it, and then 
fires; but he keeps his gun moving, with a regular angular velocity, 
till after its discharge. This method of shooting is certainly the 
only one which has been found successful in the shooting of bay 
fowl, as ducks, brant, and wild geese. There are sportsmen who 
will contend that they merely follow the bird with the gun, and dis- 
charge it while it is pointing directly at the bird. I once put this 
opinion to the test in the following manner: Four willets came over 
the decoys, flying in line with a good speed. With my gun I followed 
the leading bird coolly and accurately, and kept the gun moving 
regularly after its discharge. Instead of killing the bird aimed at, 
the third from the leader dropped dead. 

To give a rule applicable to all gunners, for the distance at which 
a gun should be held ahead of a bird in the “swing-shot,” is not 
possible. Some sportsmen follow a bird, and then, after reaching 
before it the proper distance, suddenly stop the angular motion of 
the gun, and then fire. Others, after following the bird a short dis- 
tance, give a quick, lateral motion to the gun, and then fire. Others, 


792 Lhe Shot-Gun. 


again, bring the gun, with a lateral motion, ahead of the bird, and 
keep the gun moving till their experience decides the proper distance 
ahead of its flight, and then fire while the gun is keeping its previous 
regular angular velocity. 

For the simple illustration of the bearing of these experiments on 
the art of shooting on the wing, I will suppose that, at the moment 
of fire, the gun is stationary; in other words, that we are firing 
‘snap shots.” If the bird has a velocity across the line of sight of 
30 miles an hour (z. ¢, 44 ft. per sec.), and we are using charges 
in a 12-gauge gun of 3% drs. of Curtis & Harvey powder and 
1% oz. of shot, we shall have to shoot about 5 feet ahead of the 
bird if it is flying at a distance of 30 yards; at 7 feet ahead, if at a 
distance of 40 yards, and 11 feet ahead of the bird, if at a distance 
of 50 yards. 

These distances ahead, for cross-shots at birds flying at the rate 
of 30 miles an hour, may appear out of all reason with the experi- 
ences of many sportsmen; but a few simple experiments will con- 
vince them that they generally hold farther ahead of a cross-flying 
bird than they are aware. In the grass of a level field drive two 
twigs, far removed from fence-rails or any familiar object with which 
can be compared the distance separating the twigs; then bring your 
friend up to 4o yards distance of the twigs and ask him if he would 
hold ahead, by the distance separating the twigs, at a cross-flying 
duck going over the twigs. He will, in all probability, tell you, 
“Certainly, the twigs are only about 18 inches apart.” Similar 
experiments made with rough sticks and branches suspended in the 
air at various distances have convinced me that it is very difficult to 
judge accurately of the actual distance you hold ahead of birds, 
especially when they are flying over water or in the open. 


On THE Form OF THE CHARGE OF SHOT DISCHARGED FROM A 
Gun.— Does the shot discharged from a gun progress through the 
air in the form of a cylinder, a sphere, or in the shape of a spindle ? 
We have made experiments which show that the cloud of shot as it 
passes through the air changes its shape as it goes from the muzzle 


oD 
We regret that the experiments on this interesting and quite 1m- 


to a distance, and that its general form is egg or spindle shaped. 


portant subject of investigation have not been brought to the com- 


The Shot-Gun. 793 


pletion we desire before their publication. It may, however, interest 
our readers to know how one can see the form of the cloud of shot 
as it rushes through the air at the rate of 800 or more of feet in a 
second. It is viewed in the following manner: A disk of about 
6 inches in diameter, formed of thin black paper, has cut in it one 
or more narrow, radical slits. The disk is set in rapid rotation, by 
means of clock-work, and the top of the disk rotates in a direction 
opposed to that of the charge of shot. On looking through the 
slit at a point on white background while the charge of» shot is 
passing, one gets an instantaneous glance at the passing shot, 
which is of such short duration that all the shot appear stationary in 
the line of sight. By changing the position of the apparatus and 
the point at which you view the passing cloud of shot, you obtain 
views of its form at various distances from the gun. 

In our experiments on the velocity of shot, the numbers given are 
those which refer to the pellets which first struck the target. A 
cross-flying bird shot at must be struck successively by pellets as 
it passes, and the killing power of a gun evidently depends on the 
form of the cloud of shot which it projects and high velocities given 
to the pellets forming the cloud of shot. 


On THE FirTinGc oF THE GUN TO THE SHOOTER.—There are 
two dimensions of a gun which must conform to the shooter, in 
order that he may shoot successfully and comfortably. These 
are the length of the stock, measured from the middle of the butt- 
plate to the front trigger, and the “drop” of the stock, or the 
distance from the upper edge of the toe of the butt to a straight 
edge laid on the rib of the gun and extending to the end of the 
butt. If the purchaser will try the fit of several guns of different 
lengths and drop of stock in the following manner, he may select 
one which will exactly suit him: Stand in front of a mirror 
placed flat against a wall. Throw the gun into position to aim 
at your right eye. If you now see your eye just above the rib, 
and also the upper surface of the rib of the gun, you may con- 
clude—if the gun always comes into this position—that it fits you. 
That customers may select the gun best adapted to their use, gun 
dealers should have on hand one with a stock whose length and drop 
could be altered by means of screws or clamps. 


794 The Shot-Gun. 


HANDLING OF GUNS IN THE FieLD.—Always carry your gun 
pointing upward, and never, under any circumstances, hold your gun 
in any other position, except at the moment of bringing it into posi- 
tion to fire. Some sportsmen carry the gun pointing downward, and 
bring it into position at the shoulder by elevating the muzzle. This 
is not the proper way to bring a gun into position to get a rapid and 
sure aim; and also, it is evidently dangerous to sweep the muzzle 
of a gun from the ground upward just as you are about to take aim 
and to pull the trigger. Many accidents have occurred to fellow- 
sportsmen and to dogs by the finger inadvertently touching the 
trigger as the barrel is lifted into position. If the barrel is carried 
pointing upward and then dropped to the line of aim, the stock at 
the same time describes an arc upward, and falls naturally and easily 
into position inside of the shoulder. Keep your trigger finger under 
the guard till your gun is in position to fire. 

Before jumping ditches or climbing over fences, put your hammers 
at half-cock. If carrying a hammerless gun, throw the safety-catch 
into action, then grasp your gun firmly in the right hand and hold it 
in a vertical position. In going through thick covert of briers, vines, 
or brush, put your hand over the hammers. 

Withdraw the cartridges as soon as you have decided to shoot 
no more that day. Hf you carry a hammerless gun, let no one touch 
it till you have drawn the cartridges. 

Boys and persons learning to shoot should not be allowed to 
carry in the field a loaded gun in the company of sportsmen till they 
have satisfied the sportsmen that they will carry their arms in a 
manner that will insure, as far as possible, freedom from accident 
to themselves and to their companions. 


Care or Guns.—Always clean your gun after the day’s shooting. 
Tow, crash, or flannel are good materials to wipe out the barrels 
with. If the air is dry and the powder is caked, a little moisture 
should be used on the wiper. Then dry the barrels thoroughly with 
dry wipes; then oil a sof¢ iron brush, or 000 sand-paper backed with 
flannel, and get the lead out of the barrels; then wipe them dry and 
oil them and the outside of breech-action, locks, and stock. Before you 
put the barrels in the gun-case, close up the breech and muzzle with 
plugs made of flannel or cork saturated with purified sperm oil. If 


The Shot-Gun. 795 


your shooting has been in salt air, give your gun—after cleaning it— 
a thick coating of purified lard oil, such as is used in the light-houses, 
for this is the best lubricant to prevent the corrosive action of salt air. 

The honey-combing of gun-barrels is caused by the residue, left 
by the exploded powder, setting up a galvanic action between the 
iron and steel composing Damascus and laminated steel barrels, or 
between the different grades of iron forming twist barrels. This 
fact I have proved by the following experiments : 

A piece of “low-carbon” steel and a piece of soft iron were 
placed each in a separate vessel, containing a very dilute solution of 
sulphuric acid, or a solution of the residue from gun-barrels. It was 
found that each metal was acted on and corroded. But on placing 
the bars of iron and steel in the same vessel of dilute acid, and 
bringing in contact their upper ends which were outside the acid, it 
was observed that the iron now dissolved rapidly, while the steel 
was barely acted on. Moreover, on connecting the ends of the steel 
and iron bars with a galvanometer, we observed that an electric cur- 
rent was in action, and that the soft iron held the same relation to 
the steel as the zinc plate in a battery holds to the plate of copper, 
platinum, or carbon. On placing pieces of laminated and Damascus 
barrels in the dilute acid, they became honey-combed after a few 
days by the corrosion of the soft iron of the barrels, and reproduced 
the exact appearance of barrels honey-combed by ordinary use. 

This honey-combing is therefore produced by a want of homo- 
geneity in the material composing the barrels; and as it occurs even 
when the greatest care is taken to clean the barrels after each day’s 
shooting, it appears that it can only be prevented by forming gun- 
barrels out of some substance which has the same structure and 
composition throughout all its mass— such as decarbonized steel or 
pure cast-steel. If aluminum could be obtained cheaply, it would 
make the best of barrels. Bulk for bulk, this metal weighs only one- 
third of steel, and there would be no difficulty in making the barrels 
thick enough to have sufficient strength. Aluminum bronze might 
be tried as a material for gun-barrels. 


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Lf 1 could put my woods in song, 

And tell what’s there enjoyed, 

All men would to my gardens throng, 

And leave the cities void. 
— Emerson. 


x 


CAMPS AND TRAMPS ABOUT KTAADN. 


By ARBOR ILEX. 


HAT noble mountain Ktaadn,* towering grand and peculiar 
out of the vast and undulating forest of northern Maine, its 
lofty head a pyramid with ragged apex as of a volcano, its ever 
luminous face looking serenely southward and mirrored in a hundred 
lakes, its huge body lying leagues along to the north and plowed 
into gorges by the glaciers of aons,—Ktaadn and its retinue of 
magnificent domes, sole representatives of the primal continent,—all 
these have been sung by the poet and portrayed by the painter. 
Imagine that you are fifty miles from any railway, twenty-five 
from the nearest highway, and thirteen from a practicable footing for 
any apparatus of transportation other than human legs; that you 
have come to stay a month; that your party, some of whom are 
not strong, is to be wholesomely and plentifully fed, and protected 
against rain, frost, and probably snow; that the forest affords no 
other habitation or subsistence to you than to the wild animals about 
you; that game is uncertain, and fish, while large enough, indeed, 
to delight the sportsman, are not plentiful enough to insure subsist- 
ence ;—fancy this, and you will indeed have come short of a lumber- 
man’s idea of roughing it; but you will have put yourself in a puzzle 
over two propositions— Ist, as the woods provide little, much must 
be carried in; 2d, as little can be carried in, the woods must furnish 
much. The resultant of these opposed ideas may be expressed by 
* The orthography — Ktaadn—is not that of the maps; the Maine State College 
people, who ought to be allowed to name their own mountains, insist upon “ Ktahdin.” 


But those eminent authorities, Thoreau.and J. Hammond Trumbull,—the latter our 
best expert in Indian nomenclature,—prescribe the spelling here adopted. 


Su 


802 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


the following formula:—skill x pork + blankets = success. Skill, in 
the form of experienced and strong guides, transports itself and the 
other necessaries; pork means heat and tissue in the smallest com- 
pass; warm and water-proof clothing are obviously indispensable. 
Hard-bread, tea, sugar, and a few lemons (anti-scorbutic) are indis- 
pensable; beans, wheat flour, and baking powders, potatoes, rice, 
and a few raisins (a little sweet is so sweet in the woods), should “be 
taken where transportation is not too difficult. Indian meal, canned 
meats and vegetables, and butter, furnish the means of occasional 
luxuries. With regard to spirits, rum is probably the best adapted, 
and, while a little is necessary in case of exhaustion or chill, and 
often has a hygienic importance, it is a very serious mistake, as the 
hardy lumbermen well know, to use it as a stimulant before exertion, 
or freely at any time. 

The natural essentials of a permanent camp are, Ist, conven- 
ient proximity to water; 2d, a forest to shield the works from the 
sun, and the tents and the fire especially from heavy winds; 3d, 
a level bit of ground having as dry a nature as may be, and some 
natural drainage. The artificial essentials are, a camp-fire and a 
tent for the party and another for the guides. To this may be 
added a tent to be used for putting supplies out of the rain, and also 
for putting them out of sight. The working drawings and the night 
view so fully illustrate the arrangement and construction of our 
camp that little other description is required. Fig. 1 is a cross sec- 
tion through the center of tents and camp-fire. Fig. 2 is a ground 
plan and a horizontal section of the surrounding trees. Permanent 
tents are “logged” a foot or two high on three sides, and the ends 
are covered with thin boards split from white cedar logs, or with 
birch-bark or boughs. The roof is a piece of heavy cotton cloth 
soaked in brine to protect it against the sparks of the camp-fire, and 


CROSS SECTION OF CAMP. 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 803 


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GROUND PLAN OF CAMP. 
supported on poles. The front is quite open to the fire, not to speak 
of the rain. The ground forming the floor is smoothed off and cov- 
ered thickly with small boughs of evergreen; upon these the rubber 
and woolen blankets which form the beds are laid. The ‘“ Deacon’s 
seat,” a, Fig. 1, answers almost every other purpose of domestic 
furniture. Our store-house and dining-room was constructed of 
round sticks, roofed and covered at one end with white cedar 
“splints.” The wash-stand was at c; the bean-hole, e, will be fur- 
ther referred to. The camp-fire is laid on two “ hand-chucks,” i, i, 
or on two suitable stones, and consists of logs from four to fourteen 
inches in diameter and eight to fourteen feet long. Three-quarters 
of a cord of wood are burned per day. Lying in a three-sided tent, 
wrapped in blankets and water-proofs, with one’s feet a length off 
from such a fire, is protection against any sort of bad weather, and 
yet it realizes every advantage of being out-of-doors. A temporary 
tent may consist of a mere cloth or of boughs laid upon inclined 


804 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


NIGHT VIEW OF THE CAMP. 


poles, or it may be logged or otherwise reénforced according to the 
weather. Smaller parties sometimes prefer the “A” tent. Works 
like ours may be built from standing trees, in a day or two, by three 
expert guides. Our camp was placed some thirty rods from Ktaadn 
Lake, and a good path was cut to it through the underwood. 

We are a party of six excursionists and five guides. Four of us 
are artists, whom we will call Don Cathedra, Don Gifaro, Herr 
Rubens, and M. De Woods. Two of us are professional men,—M. 
La Rose and myself, Mr. Arbor Ilex. 

At 7 p. M., September 4th, we boarded an Eastern Railroad 
sleeping-car at Boston. We breakfasted in Bangor and dined in the 
village of Mattewamkeag, on the European and North American 
Railway, fifty-eight miles further, where we met our chief guide and 
bought our heavy supplies. Wedged with our zmpfedimenta into 
two wagons, we jogged twenty-five miles to the northward, 
and slept in the outlying settlhement of Sherman. On the bright 
morning of the 6th we and our roughing baggage were packed 
into a four-horse, springless wagon, with the running gear of a 
gun-carriage and the side-grating of a bear-cage. The signifi- 
cance of this construction soon became obvious. Upon driving 
some half-dozen miles to the eastward, we suddenly rose upon 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 805 


a crest where Ktaadn and its retinue of lesser mountains burst 
upon our view,—a revelation of grandeur and beauty all the more 
impressive because the previous scenery had been so tame. At 
noon, away out beyond the precincts of permanent habitation, we 
had our first out-of-door dinner. Our sportsmen cast in Swift 
Brook for trout without success—it was a bad time of year; but 
a slice of pork toasted on a forked stick, a piece of hard-tack, 
and a cup of milkless tea were, thus early in our quest of healthy 
appetites, more palatable than a vagoizt at Delmonico’s. The 
excursionists, excepting myself, walked on; two guides and I stuck 
(with difficulty) to the wagon, upon a road consisting of a slit 
cut through a dense forest, over a tract of stumps, mud, thinly 
corduroyed swamps, and granite bowlders. The forest was broken 
only by ‘the farm” or “ Hunt's,” where hay and vegetables were raised 
in the early lumbering days, now a temporary habitation. Here, 
on the east branch of the Penobscot, I found our party fishing 
without success, but canoeing with great satisfaction. This whole 
territory, except a few tracts, was burned over forty years ago; 
some of the new growth is already good timber, and here and there 
a dead monarch stretches his huge form across our path. 

A canoe ride two miles up the east branch was to me as de- 
lightful as it was novel. Our stalwart guide fairly lifted our larger 
“birch” with its four passengers over the shallower rapids. A 
short tramp through the forest brought us before sundown to our 
first encampment on the “lower crossing” of the Wasatiquoik, 
twelve miles from Sherman. 

Next morning, the 7th, we witnessed the construction, in two 
hours, of a sled or ‘‘jumper,” by means of an axe and a two-inch 
auger. At ten o'clock the baggage was bound to two jumpers and 
started off by four horses, our party of eleven, on foot, forming 
advance and rear guards. So we tramped over hill and occasional 
swamp, up the Wasatiquoik valley, 
stopping as much time as moving, 
occasionally holding the craft from 
capsizing, and prying her over 
fallen trees, stumps, and_ rocks, 
Much of the surface of the country 


percent aa is a mass of granite bowlders of 


806 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


THE MISSING LINK, 


every size. Where disintegrated stone and vegetable mold have 
accumulated for ages, the road is practicable for wagons; but on 
slopes, where the filling has washed out, it is amazing to see a horse 
get over it at all, especially when he has to drag soft wooden sled- 
runners over the serrated edges of big stones. 

The rest of the road presented still steeper pitches, deeper bogs, 
and more entanglingly strewn rocks. One of our horses, a strag- 
gling, raw-boned ‘missing link,” afforded us no little tugging and 
plenty of amusement, in our fruitless efforts to keep him right side 
up and his various members comparatively collected together. 
Along toward evening he quite abandoned the transportation busi- 
ness, flinging himself in wild gymnastics, and finally he slid off the 
side of a corduroy and sank up to his middle in the muck. After 
we had tugged at him for half an hour, during which time he main- 
tained a strict neutrality, we convinced him, by means of a birch 
rod, that he must take a hand in the encounter, whereupon he 
roused up and floundered out. We waded the “upper crossing” of 
the Wasatiquoik at dusk, having traveled eight miles; the advance 
guard had already prepared a camp. 

Next morning we got a fair start, and by noon had made the 
remaining five miles to Ktaadn Lake, which we should have done 
the day before. After we had pried our unfortunate horse out of 
several holes in the first mile of road, and the other one had shown 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 807 


symptoms of collapse, we abandoned the jumper and sent the team 
back. Meanwhile, one horse of the other jumper having distributed 
most of his shoes and gone out of service, his companion dragged 
the vehicle alone up many steep pitches, and was only dismissed, 
with our blessing, when the jumper had left its starboard runner on 
a rock. So we had a chance to find out how wonderfully easier it is 
to walk light over bad roads than to lug twenty pounds of baggage. 
The guides spent the afternoon in “backing” in our wraps and a 
day’s provisions. We dined by the dam at the foot of the little 
lake,—one of the many difficult but unremunerative works built a 
few years ago to “drive” logs,—and got into a temporary camp for 
the night. 

The bean-hole, that principal base in camp topography, is made 
large enough to take in an iron pot; and when the hole is heated to 
a cherry-red by a big internal fire, and when the pot is filled with 
parboiled, yellow-eyed beans and a cube of pork with fat and lean in 
proper strata, and when the pot is set in the hole for the night and 
covered with coals, then begins a beneficent tissue-making alchemy 
which transmutes the humbler food into ambrosia fit for Mount 
Ktaadn, if not for Mount Olympus. 

The fishing along shore now began to abound chiefly in chub, 
and Don Gifaro, the epicure, was beginning contemptuously to dub 
this ever-ready-for-breakfast fish as ‘‘ Ktaadn trout,” while at the 
same time Don Gifaro, the sportsman, was silently determining 
where the real “fish” lay. All in good time, an ancient and dilapi- 
dated raft was discovered, and as soon mounted by the Don, De 
Woods, and La Rose, who poled and paddled it with no end of work 
to the previously determined spot. After an hour’s fishing, La Rose’s 
bare hands taking the place of a landing-net, they returned laden 
with trout; seven fish weighed over ten pounds, and one was a 
three-pounder, twenty inches long. Meanwhile, a guide had shot a 
brace of partridges, and our style of living was rapidly assuming the 
Madison Square type. I give all concerned the benefit of two expe- 
riences I acquired this day: first, don’t lay a trout in a frying-pan 
of red-hot fat with your fingers; second, when you do, get a distin- 
guished artist to paint them with white lead and turpentine; it 
prejudices one against a warm tone in art, though the ultimate 
repose of the composition is charming. 


308 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


KTAADN, FROM THE SOUTH SHORE OF THE LAKE 


The mountain was now growing in our sight, and our artists 
were already making finished pencil studies and catching the ever- 
changing tints. Few views of mountains in any country exceed that 
from the southern shore of Lake Ktaadn, in combined grandeur and 
beauty, —the great pyramid, ten miles away on the left, ever chang- 
ing in the varying moisture of air and shadow of cloud, brilliant and 
rosy in early sunshine while twilight still broods over the valley ; 
each rock-rib, and rift searched out by the full blaze of mid-day, 
opalescent in the mistier air of afternoon, and then a harmonious mass 
of blended purple and blue outlined against the sunset and mirrored 
in the lake; its foreground a densely wooded plain of dark ever- 
greens, broken here and there on the margin by tangled underwood 
of every hue of green, already richly flecked with autumnal color. 
In front, on the near opposite shore, abruptly rises Mount Turner, 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 809 


its flanks dense with primeval hard-woods, the green interspersed 
with daily deepening red and yellow, and its summit a thicket of 
evergreens. Twenty miles away on the right, and most beautiful of 
all, the Traveler,—a flattened dome, rising higher than the loftiest 
peak of the Catskills, grand and symmetrical indeed, but lovely, as I 
see it far away in the soft, rosy sunset, when Ktaadn has put on the 
darker robes of evening. Such appears to be the view from our 
camp-shore; but as I look over my shoulder at the canvas of 
my companion, | realize how inadequately it can be described in 
words. 

Our life, pleasant as was its routine by day, was not mere 


alu 


THE TRAVELER, FROM THE SOUTH SHORE OF THE LAKE. 


sketching, fishing, and tramping. The evening meal, with its liberal 
fare and its rousing appetites, its jokes and its relation of the day’s 
experiences, and then the lying at ease before the glowing camp- 
fire, with its pipes and punch and stories, and the dropping off of 
one and another in sweet, healthful sleep, without the formality of 
“retiring ”"—these are scenes of which the memories will last like 
those of Ktaadn itself. 

On the bright, clear morning of the 14th, Don Cathedra, Rubens, 
and De Woods, with two guides bearing supplies, penetrated the 
trackless wilderness of Mount Turner,—a tangling and difficult 
progress through primeval forests, to gain what the Don had imag- 
ined to-be the grandest view of Ktaadn. While the rest of us were 
consoling ourselves for our loneliness, about dark, with a rice pud- 
ding composed of two raisins to one grain of rice, and a ravishing 
sauce,—a thoughtful study by La Rose,—up rose De Woods in our 
midst, pale as an apparition. He had preceded and lost his party, 
ascended a peak of Turner, and being without provisions, descended 


810 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


KTAADN FROM CREEK AT WEST END OF LAKE. 


after four o’clock and waded a mile of lake to escape the entangling 
thicket of the margin. 

The sunrise of the next day was like opening the book of Reve- 
lations. While everything was lying asleep in misty twilight, sud- 
denly the lurking leaden clouds in the west blushed as the east flung 
them its salute across the sea, and wreathed themselves in rosy gar- 
lands upon the brow of the monarch. And then the monarch awoke, 
and rose up in: the mirage, and bathed himself in the yellow light, 
till his crest was transmuted into gold, and his breast into leagues of 
pink coral, while every glory of the rainbow rolled down his gorgeous 
flanks as morning broke upon the plain. 

The Mount Turner party returned next day, and told their stories 
over the evening camp-fire,—stories of hard struggles over wind-falls 
and through tangled underwood, of a few spoonfuls of water apiece on 
the mountain top, and of compensation for their troubles in the rare 
beauty of a primeval forest,—singular growths, dead trunks tumbled 
picturesquely together by the wind, great trees wreathing their roots 
around big bowlders cushioned all over with mosses, and little rivu- 
lets running out below, all variegated with the glistening white birch 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. SII 


WOOD INTERIOR ON MOUNT TURNER. 


and the great bronzed and many-tinted leaves of the moose-wood. 


The Don pronounced the view of Ktaadn “ grand, but not pictorial.” 


g 
When rallied about getting lost, De Woods simply told the story of 
the Indian found wandering to and fro in the wilderness, against 
whom a similar charge was made. ‘ Lost!” growled he; ‘ Indian 
no lost, Indian /e7e , wigwam lost.” 

On the morning of the 16th, Don Cathedra and |, with two 
guides, started toward the Great Basin, lying in the mountain in 
rear of the pyramid. Two other guides had preceded us, with pro- 
visions for the whole party; they were to return the same day, and 
to go up with the others in the morning. I started earlier, not 
expecting to be able to make the whole ten difficult miles in one 
day; but after various halts, we reached the Basin at 5 P.M. and 
pitched our camp. Being too tired to sleep, I lay for hours in this 
solemn amphitheater, watching the moon-lit clouds drift over its 
ragged summit, but not yet appreciating its vastness and its awful 
grandeur, for the night was singularly mild, and there was no sound 
but the soft sighing of the wind in the evergreens, as an occasional 
current circled around the Basin. I was yet to hear the sounds and 
see the sights of that great gulf. 

The first half of our journey was through a comparatively level 
country, over the remains of an old lumbering road. While there 
was much good walking, there were occasional swamps over which 
the footing of stumps and slippery logs was made still more precari- 


812 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


ous by a low growth of shrubs which quite concealed it. Getting 
over these places brought a stress upon the temper as well as upon 
muscle and nerve. The remainder of the way to the Basin was 
chiefly a line of spotted trees, which gradually led up the lower flanks 
of the mountain, but wound in detail over steep pitches and through 
tangled thickets. There were occasional ‘ wind-falls,” which were 
difficult to penetrate or to get around, and where the blazed line was 
easily lost; and there were rocky stream-beds to be climbed on all 
fours. A point two miles from the Basin reveals a magnificent view, 
both of the mountain and of Ktaadn Lake and its surrounding hills. 
Much of the forest has been harmed by neither fire nor axe, and is 
full of beautiful pictures. 

The body of Ktaadn extends, in bulk, some ten miles to the north 
of the pyramid. Its east side is gouged out in two enormous chasms 
—the Great Basin and the North Basin, the depth of which does not 
appear to the beholder from Ktaadn Lake. The Great Basin is 
a horse-shoe shaped gorge, some three miles in longest diameter 
and above a mile deep. Its floor is a plateau, a thousand feet above 
the general plain, embracing a forest and a little lake. The less 
precipitous northern lobe is divided from the southern by a “horse- 
back.” The southern lobe of the Great Basin, not visible from 
Ktaadn Lake, is an amphitheater a mile in diameter. Its formation 
is not only magnificent, but surprising, in that it occupies the whole 
interior of the pyramid. The huge head of Ktaadn is hollow, but 
its hollowness only adds to its pictorial effect. It is the twofold 
wonder of our eastern scenery,—our grandest mountain inclosing our 
grandest gorge,—and so associating in one harmonious whole the 
effects of Sierra peaks with those of Colorado canons. 

At the foot of our camp is the little Basin Lake, a thousand feet 
long and half that width,—cold, clear, and azoic as the granite cliffs 
that rise out of its shore. Around it lie drift bowlders of every age, 
and huge rocks, split from the mountain, like monolithic houses 
tumbled together by an earthquake. Over the smaller dé67z7s many- 
colored foliage creeps up into the rifts, and towering above and 
beyond is the ragged granite precipice half a mile in sheer altitude. 
On such a grand scale is everything here that distances are decep- 
tive. What was apparently a mere belt of trees on the opposite 
shore is a forest more than half a mile deep, through which we 
followed up a picturesque stream-bed to the foot of the cliffs. 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 813 


Don Cathedra was most fortu- 
nate in visiting the Great Basin on 
this seventeenth day of September 
—one day out of a hundred. It 
was gloriously bright, and yet there 
was moisture enough to give the 
most charming atmospheric effects. 
The Don made many studies, and 
worked diligently all day with pen- 
cil and brush, catching the effects 
of golden and rose-tinted rocks at 
sunrise, the yellow foliage creep- 
ing up the dark purple ledges on 
the shaded side of the ravine, the 


1 nig 
avi 


A VIEW IN THE GREAT BASIN. 


dim line in the atmosphere between the light and the shadow 
falling diagonally down the eastern cliff, the wild and ragged slides 
and stream-beds on the illuminated west slope, the picturesque fore- 
ground of autumn-tinted hard-woods and dark evergreens reflected 
in the lake— that wonderful association of grandeur in mass, with 


exquisite beauty in detail, such as one can rarely see among all our 


814 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


Appalachian mountains. In the midst of our musings, suddenly an 
avalanche came tearing down the precipice—enormous rocks bound- 
ing from ledge to ledge, bursting and scattering as they struck, 
throwing out white clouds like cannon smoke, and finally lost in 
the crashing forest below. The long time occupied in the descent 
gave evidence of the enormous height of the precipice. 

But the afternoon brought a rapid change of scene. As _ the 
party from Lake Ktaadn came straggling in, a storm—which can 
be so quickly brewed on a mountain-top—had no sooner thrown 
its shadow upon us than its substance followed in wind and rain, 
driving us into the little temporary tent while the guides were 
preparing a better one. During the intervals in the storm, our 
united exertions resulted, before dark, in a logged tent, well 
shielded and floored with boughs. We supped, and packed our 
supplies and ourselves into night-quarters during a drizzling rain, 
choked and blinded every few minutes by clouds of smoke, which 
the eddying wind flung in every direction, and secretly brooding, 
every one, over the probability that the equinoctial had caught us 
in that meteorological whirlpool, Ktaadn Basin. 

At midnight, Pomola, the deity of this domain, who had so 
sweetly beguiled us into his den, gave us a taste of his wrath. Being 
at the tempestuous corner of the tent, I was roused from my dreams 
by a ripping and a snapping of things in general, and awoke to find 
the roof gone, the protecting boughs blown over, a torrent of rain 
pouring upon us, and the last embers of the camp-fire nearly extin- 
guished. The guides’ tent had quite disappeared in the gust. 
But before the general eye had perceived the situation, the 
ever-ready John had pulled back and fastened down our flapping 
roof, and given an impetus to the fire. Then there was a general 
re-adjustment in the tent; the edges of underlying rubber cloths 
were propped up so that water would not run in, and overlying wraps 
were ridged so that rain would run off. Always excepting that old 
campaigner, Don Gifaro—he wasted no time by waking up and fool- 
ing around in the dark. I got hold of the tea, and slept with it the 
rest of the night under my water-proofs, and somebody else did the 
same with the sugar. 

Ascending the mountain was the prescribed work of the next 
day, and we made an early start. It soon became so warm that we 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 815 


EAST BRANCH OF THE PENOBSCOT. 


strapped our coats and waistcoats about our waists (the best way to 
carry weight, as John Gilpin knew), and scrambled up a dry stream- 
bed, over every form and size of rocky impediment, till we reached 
a “slide,” which I supposed might conform to the angle of repose ; 
but the unscientific way in which Ktaadn rocks will arrange them- 
selves, overhanging rather than receding, I leave succeeding tramps 
to account for. It was a hard and exhausting scale, but by no means 
a harmful one, when there were plenty of rests. We ascended a 
slide in the north lobe of the Great Basin,—the lowest part of the 
mountain, and yet so high that lichens were the largest growths,— 
and there we found what is called the table-land, but which is, in 
fact, a gradual slope toward the west. Here Don Cathedra and his 
guide left us to explore the comparatively undiscovered North Basin, 
and we proceeded up a gradual but rugged incline, now through 
entangling shrubs, now over patches of huge rocks tumbled to- 
gether, until we at last reached the summit of Ktaadn. 

I have seen many stretches of splendid landscape from many 
mountain tops, but to my thinking the view from the top of Ktaadn 
is the most remarkable and the most beautiful I have ever seen. It 
was, on this peculiarly bright day, a panorama of exceeding splendor. 
The groundwork of the whole visible landscape is a vast wooded 
plain, broken in the rear of Ktaadn by a few bold and picturesque 


816 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. 


hills, bounded on the south-western horizon by the grand group of 
the White Mountains, and interspersed everywhere with innumerable 
shining lakes— Moosehead in the far distance, Chesuncook, a river 
expansion, Millinocket with its hundred islands; and on the other 
side, our own little Ktaadn Lake, and Mount Turner and the Traveler 
looking so small from our towering height. 

The night of the 20th was a memorable one. Don Gifaro, 
Rubens, and De Woods were to leave us next morning, and we 
sat up-talking over our adventures, and promising ourselves many 
happy returns, till the unprecedentedly late hour of ten o'clock. 

The remaining days of our camping, although we could not get 
used to the vacant seats, were full of pleasant incidents. La Rose 
kept our table loaded with splendid fish, and Don Cathedra and | 
sketched from morning till night, producing some of our finest studies. 
The Don manipulated the brush and the palette, to be sure, but as I 
held the umbrella and generally supervised the work, I feel justified 
in the foregoing use of the pronoun. The aspects of the mountain 
were now surprisingly various and beautiful. Our equinoctial storm 
was chiefly a wind storm. One day it drove the Great Basin all full 
of clouds, and they poured out of the apex like steam out of a vol- 
cano; and when they were luridly lighted by the setting sun, the 
scene was extremely wild and gorgeous. 

And so, day after day, the mountain and the forest grew more 
beautiful. But the end must come; and on the 25th, with great 
reluctance, we broke camp and started back to Sherman ex voute for 
home. 

Our supplies for 11 men (6 excursionists and 5 guides) 16 days, 
and 5 men 5 days,=1 man, 201 days, were: 


IMIESSipOng.) epee LS mpOUnG Sam ea RICcEs 5 pounds 
Flard@breadijes) seam OOnmne . . Butter 5 fs 
Crackersitt eet ane ty Ot a . . Raisins . : 5 ee 
Sugar (granulated). . 80 ‘* . . Bread powders Raa ine 1633) 
Wiheatetloirs fat: meri Omnis nC PCE Bet eh re Ce peor ea an oe REO) fe 
ltavebieiy Tneail yo 3 eR . . Canned meat 7 
Beans, 8. tatid op ce oO mens . . Lemons 8 & 
Potatoes! sean ero . Sundry preserves, etc . 5 se 
Elian job 5 Ue aah nie Some . . Fish, mostly trout (estimated) . 100 es 
Onions. yeu) exon Onan oo GAME P Scat yee Lame Lala rd 


Total 2745 feel ae ey ne et ec een Sar Ree OS ADOC 


Camps and Tramps About Ktaadn. S17 


This gives, say, four pounds of raw food per day per man. 
There was, of course, a large percentage of waste in its prepara- 
tion and in its transportation from camp to camp. The cost of 
this raw food (excluding, of course, fish, game, and transportation) 
was sixty-five dollars, or thirty-two and one-third cents per man 
per day. Our bill of fare has included the obvious simple and the 
following compound dishes: 

Crackers, dampened and fried in pork fat, with onions (dzsgue 
a@ la Ilex), fried cakes, of various mixtures of wheat and- corn 
meal; Indian plum-pudding (cauchemar),; rice-pudding, with rais- 
ins; raisin-pudding, with rice (ex-cathedra),;, baked pork and 
beans ; canned meats warmed up with potatoes and cracker crumbs ; 
eel-pie ; partridge-soup and stew; duck-stew, and sauces of sugar, 
butter, and rum. As the guides were so constantly employed in 
arranging new camps and transporting supplies, they had no time 
to seek large game, although we saw both moose and caribou. 

The necessary camp utensils (some of which most guides have 
on hand) for our number and our style of living are: An iron 
pot with overlapping cover, a tin tea-pot, two frying-pans, four tin 
pails, two of them having covers and removable wire legs (par- 
boiling vessels), the whole to pack in a nest; a nest of four deep 
tin dishes or pans, the largest fifteen inches and the smallest ten 
inches in diameter, to be used as mixing vessels and platters; a 
tin baker, say 16 x 12 x 7 inches; a dozen of each of the follow- 
ing: tin pint cups, tin dinner plates, and cheap tea-spoons, knives 
and forks; three larger cooking spoons of different sizes, two butcher- 
knives, two tin wash-basins, a salt-box, a pepper-box, and a wire grid- 
iron. We did not have a camp-stove, which would have been a great 
convenience. The half of a stout barrel is good to keep pork in, and 
will also hold fish, game, etc., in separate birch-bark vessels. A 
birch-bark lined hole in the earth is a good store-room for meat. 
There should be plenty of dish-cloths and towels, and five pounds of 
bar soap. A can of kerosene and a student-lamp may be readily 
taken; a dozen candles are convenient, although the camp-fire fur- 
nishes the necessary illumination. No work nor amusement requir- 
ing a good light is attempted after dark. The matches should be 
distributed among the party, and each person should carry a few in 
a corked metal case. Some nails and tacks of assorted sizes prove 


52 


818 Camps and Tramps About Ktaadu 


KTAADN LAKE FROM THE SLIDE IN THE BASIN. 


surprisingly useful. We brought in cheap 
crockery plates, mugs, cups and saucers, 
and left them. The guides will, of course, 
have plenty of axes and guns. A one- 


5 


and-a-half inch auger and a draw-shave 
are often very useful. A shovel is con- 
venient, but not indispensable. The pro- 
visions and utensils are most conveniently 
transported in bags. 

It is a great mistake to take other than stout clothing. Adapta- 
tion of clothing to the great variations of temperature may be 
readily made by ‘doubling up.” The rubber cloth should be 
permanently lined with the half of one blanket to lie on, the 
other half of the blanket and the sides of the rubber cloth form- 
ing a cover. The foot of this bed should be made, by means of 
straps and buckles, into a bag, so that the occupant may roll 
about, bed and all, without pulling the clothes off or getting them 
wet when it rains. This bag of bedding, rolled into a bundle 
forms its own water-proof case. The clothing is transported in a 
rubber bag, made like a mail-bag, and having an inside flap. To 


>? 


this outfit each person will add the implements of his specialty. A 
few quires of heavy paper, both for wrapping and for preserving 
leaves, are of use to all. Pencils, pocket-knives, and such indispen- 


Camps and Tramps About Klaadn. 319 


sables, should be taken in duplicate. Climbing mountains and tum- 
bling through thickets is pocket-picking business. The party should 
have a good field-glass, an aneroid barometer for measuring heights, 
and a pocket-compass. 

The cost of the expedition (sixteen days in the woods) to each 
excursionist was $80.83. 

The railway transportation was 47 per cent. of the whole 
expense. The distance from New York to Ktaadn by our route 


is exactly 600 miles. 


HOW oY RrERE D Aww aake 


\ 


By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, 
AUTHOR OF ‘‘MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN,” ‘‘IN THE WILDERNESS," ‘‘BADDECK,” ETC. 


O many conflicting accounts have appeared about my casual 
encounter with an Adirondack bear last summer, that in justice 
to the public, to myself, and to the bear, it is necessary to make 

a plain statement of the facts. Besides, it is so seldom I have occa 
sion to kill a bear that the celebration of the exploit may be excused. 

The encounter was unpremeditated on both sides. I was not 
hunting for a bear, and I have no reason to suppose that a bear was 
looking for me. The fact is that we were both out blackberrying, 
and met by chance,—the usual way. There is among the Adirondack 
visitors always a great deal of conversation about bears,—a general 
expression of the wish to see one in the woods, and much speculation 
as to how a person would act if he or she chanced to meet one. But 
bears are scarce and timid and appear only to a favored few. 

It was a warm day in August, just the sort of day when an 
adventure of any kind seemed impossible. But it occurred to the 
housekeepers at our cottage—there were four of them—to send me 
to the clearing, on the mountain back of the house, to pick black- 
berries. It was rather a series of small clearings, running up into 
the forest, much overgrown with bushes and briers, and not unroman- 
tic. Cows pastured there, penetrating through the leafy passages 
from one opening to another, and browsing among the bushes. I was 
kindly furnished with a six-quart pail, and told not to be gone long. 

Not from any predatory instinct, but to save appearances, I took 
a gun. It adds to the manly aspect of a person with a tin pail if he 
also carries a gun. It was possible I might start up a partridge; 
though how I was to hit him, if he started up instead of standing 


How I Killed a Bear. 821 


still, puzzled me. Many people use a shot-gun for partridges. | 
preter the rifle: it makes a clean job of death, and does not prema- 
turely stuff the bird with globules of lead. The rifle was a Sharp’s, 
carrying a ball-cartridge (ten to the pound), an excellent weapon 
belonging to a friend of mine, who had intended, for a good many 
years back, to kill a deer with it. He could hit a tree with it—if the 
wind did not blow, and the atmosphere was just right, and the tree 
was not too far off—nearly every time. Of course, the tree must 
have some size. Needless to say that I was at that time no sports- 
man. Years ago, I killed a robin under the most humiliating cir- 
cumstances. The bird was in a low cherry-tree. I loaded a big 
shot-gun pretty full, crept up under the tree, rested the gun on the 
fence, with the muzzle more than ten feet from the bird, shut both 
eyes, and pulled the trigger. When I got up to see what had hap- 
pened, the robin was scattered about under the tree in more than a 
thousand pieces, no one of which was big enough to enable a natu- 
ralist to decide from it to what species it belonged. This disgusted 
me with the life of a sportsman. I mention the incident to show 
that, although I went blackberrying armed, there was not much 
inequality between me and the bear. 

In this blackberry-patch bears had been seen. The summer 
before, our colored cook, accompanied by a little girl of the vicinage, 
was picking berries there one day, when a bear came out of the 
woods and walked toward them. The girl took to her heels 
and escaped. Aunt Chloe was paralyzed with terror. Instead of 
attempting to run, she sat down on the ground where she was stand- 
ing, and began to weep and scream, giving herself up for lost. The 
bear was bewildered by this conduct. He approached and looked at 
her; he walked around and surveyed her. Probably he had never 
seen a colored person before,and did not know whether she would 
agree with him; at any rate, after watching her a few moments, he 
turned about and went into the forest. This is an authentic instance 
of the delicate consideration of a bear, and is much more remarkable 
than the forbearance toward the African slave of the well-known 
lion, because the bear had no thorn in his foot. 

When I had climbed the hill, I set up my rifle against a tree, and 
began picking berries, lured on from bush to bush by the black 
gleam of fruit (that always promises more in the distance than it 

52A 


822 How I Killed a Bear. 


realizes when you reach it), penetrating farther and farther, through 
leaf-shaded cow-paths flecked with sunlight, into clearing after clear- 
ing. I could hear on all sides the tinkle of bells, the cracking of 
sticks, and the stamping of cattle that were taking refuge in the 
thicket from the flies. Occasionally, as I broke through a covert, I 
encountered a meek cow, who stared at me stupidly for a second and 
then shambled off into the brush. I became accustomed to this dumb 
society, and picked on in silence, attributing all the wood-noises to 
the cattle, thinking nothing of any real bear. In point of fact, how- 
‘ever, I was thinking all the time of a nice romantic bear, and, as I 
picked, was composing a story about a generous she-bear who had 
lost her cub, and who seized a small girl in this very wood, carried 
her tenderly off to a cave, and brought her up on bear’s milk and 
honey. When the girl got big enough to run away, moved by her 
inherited instincts, she escaped, and came into the valley to her 
father’s house (this part of the story was to be worked out, so that 
the child would know her father by some family resemblance, and 
have some language in which to address him), and told him where 
the bear lived. The father took his gun, and, guided by the unfeeling 
daughter, went into the woods and shot the bear, who never made 
any resistance, and only, when dying, turned reproachful eyes upon 
her murderer. The moral of the tale was to be kindness to animals. 

I was in the midst of this tale, when I happened to look some 
rods away to the other edge of the clearing, and there was a bear! 
He was standing on his hind-legs, and doing just what I was doing, 
—picking blackberries. With one paw he bent down the bush, 
while with the other he clawed the berries into his mouth,—green 
ones and all. To say that I was astonished is inside the mark. I 
suddenly discovered that I didn’t want to see a bear, after all. At 
about the same moment, the bear saw me, stopped eating berries, 
and regarded me with a glad surprise. It is all very well to imagine 
what you would do under such circumstances. Probably you 
would’nt do it; I didn’t. The bear dropped down on his fore- 
feet and came slowly toward me. Climbing a tree was of no use, 
with so good a climber in the rear. If I started to run, I had 
no doubt the bear would give chase; and although a bear cannot 
run down-hill as fast as he can run up-hill, yet I felt that he could 
get over this rough, brush-tangled ground faster than I could. 


How I Killed a Bear. 823 


The bear was approaching. It suddenly occurred to me how I 
could divert his mind until I could fall back upon my military base. 
My pail was nearly full of excellent berries,— much better than the bear 
could pick himself. I put the pail on the ground, and slowly backed 
away from it, keeping my eye, as beast-tamers do, on the bear. The 
ruse succeeded. 

The bear came up to the berries and stopped. Not accustomed 
to eat out of a pail, he tipped it over, and nosed about in the fruit, 
“ gorming” (if there is such a word) it down, mixed with leaves and 
dirt, like a pig. The bear is a worse feeder than the pig. Whenever 
he disturbs a maple-sugar camp in the spring, he always upsets the 
buckets of syrup, and tramples around in the sticky sweets, wasting 
more than he eats. The bear’s manners are thoroughly disagreeable. 

As soon as my enemy’s head was down, I started and ran. Some- 
what out of breath, and shaky, I reached my faithful rifle. It was 
not a moment too soon. I heard the bear crashing through the 
brush after me. Enraged at my duplicity, he was now coming on 
with blood in his eye. I felt that the time of one of us was prob- 
ably short. The rapidity of thought at such moments of peril is 
well known. I thought an octavo volume, had it illustrated and 
published, sold fifty thousand copies, and went to Europe on the 
proceeds, while that bear was loping across the clearing. As I 
was cocking the gun, I made a hasty and unsatisfactory review of my 
whole life. I noted-that even in such a compulsory review, it is almost 
impossible to think of any good thing you have done. The sins come 
out uncommonly strong. I recollected a newspaper subscription I had 
delayed paying years and years ago, until both editor and newspaper 
were dead, and which now never could be paid to all eternity. 

The bear was coming on. 

I tried to remember what I had read about encounters with 
bears. I couldn’t recall an instance in which a man had run away 
from a bear in the woods and escaped, although I recalled plenty 
where the bear had run from the man and got off. I tried to'think 
what is the best way to kill a bear with a gun, when you are not 
near enough to club him with the stock. My first thought was to 
fire at his head; to plant the ball between his eyes; but this is a 
dangerous experiment. The bear’s brain is very small; and, unless 
you hit that, the bear does not mind a bullet in his head; that is, not 


824 Flow I Killed a Bear. 


at the time. I remembered that the instant death of the bear would 
follow a bullet planted just back of his fore-leg and sent into his heart. 
This spot is also difficult to reach, unless the bear stands off, side toward 
you, like a target. I finally determined to fire at him generally. 

The bear was coming on. 

The contest seemed to me very different from anything at Creed- 
moor. I had carefully read the reports of the shooting there; but it 
was not easy to apply the experience I had thus acquired. I hesi- 
tated whether I had better fire lying on my stomach or.lying on my 
back and resting the gun on my toes. But in neither position, I 
reflected, could I see the bear until he was upon me. The range was 
too short, and the bear wouldn’t wait for me to examine the ther- 
mometer, and note the direction of the wind. ‘Trial of the Creed- 
moor method, therefore, had to be abandoned, and I bitterly regretted 
that I had not read more accounts of off-hand shooting. 

For the bear was coming on. 

I tried to fix my last thoughts upon my family. As my family is 
small this was not difficult. Dread of displeasing my wife or hurting 
her feelings was uppermost in my mind. What would be her 
anxiety as hour after hour passed on, and | did not return? What 
would the rest of the househoid think, as the afternoon passed and 
no blackberries came? What would be my wife’s mortification when 
the news was brought that her husband had been eaten by a bear? 
I cannot imagine anything more ignominious than to have a hus- 
band eaten by a bear. And this was not my only anxiety. The 
mind at such times is not under control. With the gravest fears 
the most whimsical ideas will occur. I looked beyond the mourn- 
ing friends, and thought what kind of an epitaph they would be 
compelled to put upon the stone. Something like this: 


Here Lig THE REMAINS 
OF 


EATEN BY A BEAR, 
AUG. 20, 1877. 

It is a very unheroic and even disagreeable epitaph. That 
‘eaten by a bear” is intolerable. It is grotesque. And then I 
thought what an inadequate language the English is for compact 
expression. It would not answer to put upon the stone simply 
“eaten”; for that is indefinite, and requires explanation; it might 


flow I Killed a Bear. 825 


mean eaten by a cannibal. This difficulty could not occur in the 


by a beast. How simple the thing would be in German: 


Hier Lect 
HoCHWOHLGEBOREN 
HERR 

GEFRESSEN, 


AUG. 20, £877. 


That explains itself. The well-born one was eaten by a beast, 
and presumably by a bear,—an animal that has a bad reputation 
since the days of Elisha. 

The bear was coming on; he had, in fact, come on. I judged 
that he could see the whites of my eyes. All my subsequent reflec- 
tions were confused. I raised the gun, covered the bear's breast with 
the sight, and let drive. Then I turned, and ran like a deer. | did 
not hear the bear pursuing. I looked back. The bear had stopped. 
He was lying down. I then remembered that the best thing to do 
after having fired your gun is to reload it. I slipped in a charge, 
keeping my eyes on the bear. He never stirred. | walked back sus- 
piciously. There was a quiver in the hind legs, but no other motion. 
Still, he might be shamming; bears often sham. To make sure, I 
approached and puta ball into his head. He didn’t mind it now; 
he minded nothing. Death had come to him with a merciful sud- 
denness. He was calm in death. In order that he might remain so, I 
blew his brains out, and then started for home. I had killed a bear! 

Notwithstanding my excitement, | managed to saunter into the 
house with an unconcerned air. There was a chorus of voices : 

‘‘Where are your blackberries ?” 

“Why were you gone so long?” 

‘“Where’s your pail?” 

Se leficthe: pail.” 

“Left the pail! What for?” 

‘‘ A bear wanted it.” 

‘Oh, nonsense !” 

“Well, the last I saw of it a bear had it.” 

“Oh, come! you really didn’t see a bear?” 

“Yes, but I did really see a real bear.” 

© Didvhe run?” 


“Yes; he ran after me.” 


826 How I Killed a Bear. 


“T don’t believe a word of it. What did you do?” 

“Oh, nothing particular—except kill the bear.” 

Cries of “Gammon!” ‘Don’t believe it!” 

«Where's the bear?” 

“Tf you want to see the bear you must go up into the woods. I 


couldn’t bring him down alone.” 

Having satisfied the household that something extraordinary had 
occurred, and excited the posthumous fear of some of them for my 
own safety, I went down into the valley to get help. The great bear- 
hunter, who keeps one of the summer boarding-houses, received my 
story with a smile of incredulity; and the incredulity spread to the 
other inhabitants and to the boarders as soon as the story was 
known. However, as I insisted in all soberness, and offered to lead 
them to the bear, a party of forty or fifty people at last started off 
with me to bring the bear in. Nobody believed there was any bear 
in the case; but everybody who could get a gun carried one; and 
we went into the woods armed with guns, pistols,. pitchforks, and 
sticks, against all contingencies or surprises,—a crowd made up 
mostly of scoffers and jeerers. 

But when I led the way to the fatal spot, and pointed out the 
bear lying peacefully wrapped in his own skin, something like ter- 
ror seized the boarders and genuine excitement the natives. It 
was a no-mistake bear, by George! and the hero of the fight— 
well, I will not insist upon that. But what a procession that was, 
carrying the bear home! and what a congregation was speedily 
gathered in the valley to see the bear! Our best preacher up there 
never drew anything like it on Sunday. 

And I must say that my particular friends, who were sports- 
men, behaved very well, on the whole. They didn’t deny that it was 
a bear, although they said it was small for a bear. Mr. Deane, who 
is equally good with a rifle and a rod, admitted that it was a very 
fair shot. He is probably the best salmon-fisher in the United States, 
and he is an equally good hunter. I suppose there is no person in 
America who is more desirous to kill a moose than he. 

But he needlessly remarked, after he had examined the wound in 
the bear, that he had seen that kind of a shot made by a cow’s horn. 

This sort of talk affected me not. When I went to sleep that 
night my last delicious thought was: ‘I’ve killed a bear.” 


pee Ge (Wola AS ike @ ae. 


By CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER, 


AUTHOR OF ‘'MY SUMMER IN A GARDEN," ‘'IN THE WILDERNESS,” ‘' BADDECK," ETC. 


ROUT-FISHING in the Adirondacks would be a more attract- 

ive pastime than it is, but for the popular notion of its danger. 

The trout is a retiring and harmless animal, except when he 
is aroused and forced into a combat; and then his agility, fierceness, 
and vindictiveness become apparent. No one who has studied the 
excellent pictures representing men in an open boat, exposed to 
the assaults of long, 
air with open mouth, ever ventures with his rod upon the lonely 
lakes of the forest without a certain terror, or ever reads of the 
exploits of daring fishermen without a feeling of admiration for their 
heroism. Most of their adventures are thrilling, and all of them 
are, in narration, more or less unjust to the trout; in fact, the 
object of them seems to be to exhibit, at the expense of the trout, 
the shrewdness, the skill, and the muscular power of the sportsman. 
My own simple story has few of these recommendations. 

We had built our bark camp one summer, and were staying 
on one of the popular lakes of the Saranac region. It would be 
a very pretty region, if it were not so flat, if the margins of the 
lakes had not been flooded by dams at the outlets;—which have 
killed the trees, and left a rim of ghastly dead-wood, like the 
swamps of the under-world pictured by Doré’s é¢zarre pencil,—and 
if the pianos at the hotels were in tune. It would be an excellent 
sporting region also (for there is water enough), if the fish com- 
missioners would stock the waters, and if previous hunters had 


enraged trout flying at them through the open 


828 A Fight with a Trout. 


not pulled all the hair and skin off from the deers’ tails. Formerly, 
sportsmen had a habit of catching the deer by the tails, and of 
being dragged in mere wantonness round and round the shores. It 
is well known that if you seize a deer by this “holt,” the skin will 
slip off like the peel from a banana. This reprehensible practice 
was carried so far that the traveler is now hourly pained by the 
sight of peeled-tailed deer mournfully sneaking about the wood. 

We had been hearing for weeks of a small lake in the heart 
of the virgin forest, some ten miles from our camp, which was alive 
with trout, unsophisticated, hungry trout; the inlet to it was described 
as stiff with them. In my imagination, I saw them lying there in 
ranks and rows, each a foot long, three tiers deep, a solid mass. The 
lake had never been visited, except by stray sable-hunters in the 
winter, and was known as the Unknown Pond. I determined to 
explore it, fully expecting, however, that it would prove to be a delu- 
sion, as such mysterious haunts of the trout usually are. Confiding 
my purpose to Luke, we secretly made our preparations, and stole 
away from the shanty one morning at day-break. Each of us carried 
a boat, a pair of blankets, a sack of bread, pork, and maple sugar; 
while I had my case of rods, creel, and book of flies, and Luke had 
an axe and the kitchen utensils. We think nothing of loads of this 
sort in the woods. 

Five miles through a tamarack swamp brought us to the inlet of 
Unknown Pond, upon which we embarked our fleet, and paddled 
down its vagrant waters. They were at first sluggish, winding 
among /r?s¢e fir-trees, but gradually developed a strong current. At 
the end of three miles, a loud roar ahead warned us that we were 
approaching rapids, falls, and cascades. We paused. The danger 
was unknown. We had our choice of shouldering our loads and 
making a detour through the woods, or of “shooting the rapids.” 
Naturally, we chose the more dangerous course. Shooting the 
rapids has often been described, and I will not repeat the description 
here. It is needless to say that I drove my frail bark through the 
boiling rapids, over the sticcessive water-falls, amid rocks and vicious 
eddies, and landed half a mile below, with whitened hair and a boat 
half full of water; and that the guide was upset, and boat, contents, 
and man were strewn along the shore. 

After this common experience we went quickly on our journey, 


A Fight with a Trout. 829 


and, a couple of hours before sundown, reached the lake. If I live 
to my dying day I never shall forget its appearance. The lake is 
almost an exact circle, about a quarter of a mile in diameter. The 
forest about it was untouched by axe and unkilled by artificial flood- 
ing. The azure water had a perfect setting of evergreens, in which 
all the shades of the fir, the balsam, the pine, and the spruce were 
perfectly blended; and at intervals, on the shore in the emerald 
rim, blazed the ruby of the cardinal-flower. It was at once evi- 
dent that the unruffled waters had never been vexed by the keel 
of a boat. But what chiefly attracted my attention and amused 
me was the boiling of the water, bubbling and breaking, as if the 
lake were a vast kettle, with a fire underneath. A tyro would 
have been astonished at this common phenomenon; but sportsmen 
will at once understand me when I say that the water boiled 
with the breaking trout. I studied the surface for some time to see 
upon what sort of flies they were feeding, in order to suit my cast to 
their appetites; but they seemed to be at play rather than feeding, 
leaping high in the air in graceful curves, and tumbling about each 
other as we see them in the Adirondack pictures. 

It is well known that no person who regards his reputation will 
ever kill a trout with anything but a fly. It requires some training on 
the part of the trout to take to this method. The uncultivated, unso- 
phiscated trout in unfrequented waters prefers the bait; and the rural 
people, whose sole object in going a-fishing appears to be to catch fish, 
indulge them in their primitive taste for the worm. No sportsman, 
however, will use anything but a fly, except he happens to be alone. 

While Luke launched ‘my boat, and arranged his seat in the stern, 
I prepared my rod and line. The rod is a bamboo, weighing seven 
ounces, which has to be spliced with a winding of silk thread every 
time it is used. This is a tedious process; but by fastening the 
joints in this way, a uniform spring is secured in the rod. No one 
devoted to high art would think of using a socket-joint. My line 
was forty yards of untwisted silk upon a multiplying reel. The 
“leader” (I am very particular about my leaders) had been made to 
order from a domestic animal with which I had been acquainted. 
The fisherman requires as good a catgut as the violinist. The inte- 
rior of the house-cat, it is well known, is exceedingly sensitive; but 
it may not be so well known that the reason why some cats leave 


330 A Fight with a Trout. 


the room in distress when a piano-forte is played is because the two 
instruments are not in the same key, and the vibrations of the chords 
of the one are in discord with the catgut of the other. On six feet 
of this superior article I fixed three artificial flies,—a simple brown 
hackle, a gray body, with scarlet wings, and one of my own inven- 
tion, which I thought would be new to the most experienced fly- 
catcher. The trout-fly does not resemble any known species of 
insect. It is a ‘ conventionalized” creation, as we say of ornamen- 
tation. The theory is that, fly-fishing being a high art, the fly must 
not be a tame imitation of nature, but an artistic suggestion of it. It 
requires an artist to construct one, and not every bungler can take a 
bit of red flannel, a peacock’s feather, a flash of tinsel thread, a cock’s 
plume, a section of a hen’s wing, and fabricate a tiny object that will 
not look like any fly, but still will suggest the universal conventional fly. 

I took my stand in the center of the tipsy boat; and Luke shoved 
off, and slowly paddled toward some lily-pads, while I began casting, 
unlimbering my tools, as it were. The fish had all disappeared. I 
got out, perhaps, fifty feet of line, with no response, and gradually 
increased it to one hundred. It is not difficult to learn to cast; but 
it is difficult to learn not to snap off the flies at every throw. Of 
this, however, we will not speak. I continued casting for some 
moments, until I became satisfied that there had been a miscalcula- 
tion. Either the trout were too green to know what I was at, or 
they were dissatisfied with my offers. I reeled in and changed the 
flies (that is, the fly that was not snapped off). After studying the 
color of the sky, of the water, and of the foliage, and the moderated 
light of the afternoon, I put on a series of beguilers, all of a subdued 
brilliancy, in harmony with the approach of evening. At the second 
cast, which was a short one, I saw a splash where the leader fell, and 
gave an excited jerk. The next instant I perceived the game, and 
did not need the unfeigned ‘‘dam” of Luke to convince me that I 
had snatched his felt hat from his head and deposited it among 
the lilies. Discouraged by this, we whirled about, and paddled over 
to the inlet, where a little ripple was visible in the tinted light. At 
the very first cast I saw that the hour had come. Three trout leaped 
into the air. The danger of this maneuver all fishermen understand. 
It is one of the commonest in the woods; three heavy trout taking 
hold at once, rushing in different directions, smash the tackle into 


) 


A Fight with a Trout. 331 


flinders. I evaded this catch and threw again. I recall the moment. 
A hermit-thrush, on the tip of a balsam, uttered his long, liquid, 
evening note. Happening to look over my shoulder, I saw the peak 
of Marcy gleam rosy in the sky (1 can’t help it that Marcy is fifty 
miles off, and cannot be seen from this region; these incidental 
touches are always used). The hundred feet of silk swished thrcugh 
the -air, and the tail-fly fell as lightly on the water as a three-cent 
piece (which no slamming will give the weight of a ten) drops upcn 
the contribution-plate. Instantly there was a rush, a swirl. I struck, 
and “ Got him, by ——!” never mind what Luke said I got him by. 
“Out on a fly,” continued that irrevent guide; but I told him to 
back water and make for the center of the lake. The trout, as soon 
as he felt the prick of the hook, was off like a shot, and took out the 
whole of the line with a rapidity that made it smoke. ‘Give him 
the butt!” shouted Luke. It is the usual remark in such an emer- 
gency. I gave him the butt; and recognizing the fact and my spirit, 
the trout at once sank to the bottom and sulked. It is the most 
dangerous mood of a trout; for you cannot tell what he will do 
next. We reeled up a little, and waited five minutes for him to 
reflect. A tightening of the line enraged him, and he soon developed 
his tactics. Coming to the surface, he made straight for the boat 
faster than I could reel in, and evidently with hostile intentions. 
“Look out for him!” cried Luke, as he came flying in the air. I 
evaded him by dropping flat in the bottom of the boat; and when I 
picked my traps up, he was spinning across the lake as if he had a 
new idea; but the line was still fast. He did not run far. I gave 
him the butt again; a thing he seemed to hate, even as a gift. Ina 
moment the evil-minded fish, lashing the water in his rage, was 
coming back again, making straight for the boat as-before. Luke, 
who was used to these encounters, having read of them in the 
writings of travelers he had accompanied, raised his paddle in self- 
defense. The trout left the water about ten feet from the boat, and 
came directly at me with fiery eyes, his speckled sides flashing like 
a meteor. I dodged as he whisked by with a vicious slap of his 
bifurcated tail, and nearly upset the boat. The line was of course 
slack; and the danger was that he would entangle it about me and 
carry away aleg. This was evidently his game, but I entangled it, 
and only lost a breast-button or two by the swiftly-moving string. The 


832 A Fight with a Trout. 


trout plunged into the water with a hissing sound, and went away 
again with all the line on the reel. More butt; more indignation on 
the part of the captive. The contest had now been going on for 
half an hour, and I was getting exhausted. We had been back and 
forth across the lake and round and round the lake. What I| feared 
was that the trout would start up the inlet and wreck us in the bushes. 
But he had a new fancy, and began the execution of a maneuver 
which I had never read of. Instead of coming straight toward me, 
he took a large circle, swimming rapidly, and gradually contracting 
his orbit. I reeled in, and kept my eye on him. Round and round 
he went, narrowing his circle. I began to suspect the game; which 
was to twist my head off. When he had reduced the radius of his 
circle to about twenty-five feet, he struck a tremendous pace through 
the water. It would be false modesty in a sportsman to say that I 
was not equal to the occasion. Instead of turning round with him, 
as he expected, I stepped to the bow, braced myself, and let the boat 
swing. Round went the fish, and round we went like a top. I saw 
a line of Mount Marcys all round the horizon; the rosy tint in 
the west made a broad band of pink along the sky above the tree- 
tops; the evening-star was a perfect circle of light, a hoop of gold 
in the heavens. We whirled and reeled, and reeled and whirled. 
I was willing to give the malicious beast butt and line and all, if 
he would only go the other way for a change. 

When I came to myself Luke was gaffing the trout at the boat- 
side. After we had got him in and dressed him he weighed three- 
quarters of a pound. Fish always lose by being ‘ got in and dressed.” 
It is best to weigh them while they are in the water. The only 
really large one I ever caught got away with my leader when I 
first struck him. He weighed ten pounds. 


HOW TO MOUNT A) BIRD: 


of 
BYE IRSE DR CA rE UIGANS: 


EX-PRESIDENT OF THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN TAXIDERMISTS. 


HOULD you become the prey of a desire to mount some pretty 

songster, quaint owl, or swift-winged game bird that has fallen 

a victim to your skill, it is hoped that a careful perusal of this 
chapter will enable you to do so. First, however, experiment with 
a bird or two that you do not particularly care for before essaying 
your skill on one that you prize. In selecting a bird for your first 
trial, choose one of moderate size and comparatively tough skin. The 
robin, cow bunting, crow blackbird, and bob white are all pretty good 
subjects, while woodpeckers, cuckoos, and very large or very small 
birds are to be shunned until you have acquired some little experience. 
When you have acquired skill by practice, you will find among young 
birds and mammals some of the prettiest and quaintest subjects for your 
art. When setting out with the intention or expectation of securing 
birds for mounting, take with you a newspaper or two, a little cotton 
batting, and a pair of forceps. As soon asa bird is shot, plug the vent, 
nostrils, and mouth with cotton; also, treat any large shot-holes in 
the same manner, and transfer the bird, head downward, to a paper 
cornucopia of such length that you may twist together the open end 
without damaging the tail. If there is blood on the plumage, do not 
attempt to remove it until reaching home. The best thing in which 
to carry birds is a fish-basket, as in that they are not bent out of 
shape. Do not skin the bird as soon as it is shot, but wait a little 


53 


334 How to Mount a Bird. 


while, until the blood has coagulated. Before commencing opera- 
tions, study the bird carefully; note where the wings lie when folded, 
mark how far forward and how low down are the knees, and, above all, 
notice the length of the bird. A very good plan is to gently stretch 
a bird to its utmost, and to make a mark at the tip of its bill and at 
the end of its tail, for future reference. Anything over this is, of course, 
wrong, and there are but few positions wherein this limit would be 


>? 


READY FOR WORK. 


reached. For skinning purposes, you need a scalpel or other small 
knife, a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, a knitting-needle, and a pair of 
small spring forceps; also, a dish of plaster-of-paris,—white corn 
meal may be used instead,—and either powdered arsenic or arsenical 
soap.* Cotton batting, of course, is included among the necessities, 


* Which of these two may be the better is open to discussion, but I prefer to use 
the soap. Powdered arsenic, mixed with half its weight of powdered alum, is easily 
obtained, and does not soil the feathers if it comes in contact with them. On the con- 
trary, it is not so penetrating as the soap, does not stick to the skin when it is at all dry, 
and at times dries the skin too rapidly. Arsenical soap is penetrating, keeps the skin 
moist, and acts as a lubricant when you are inserting the neck or turning the legs. Its 
one disadvantage is that you must use it carefully in order not to soil the feathers. 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 835 


A TAXIDERMIST'’S SANCTUM. 


First cleanse off any blood stains by washing carefully with tepid 
water and drying with plaster of paris.* Be careful that you allow 
no plaster to “set” on the feathers, but keep them constantly moving, 
changing the plaster now and then, until quite dry. Renew the 
plugs of cotton in the vent, mouth, and nostrils, placing a little plaster 
in the throat before introducing the cotton, and also putting a pinch 
on each eye. Now lay the bird on its back, part the feathers on the 
under side down the center, and make a cut from near the upper end 
of the breast-bone to the vent, ending in it. Take care in doing this 
not to cut ¢krough the thin walls of the abdominal cavity; but if you 
are unlucky enough to do this, apply cotton and plaster liberally. 
Catch one edge of the cut skin with the forceps or finger tips, and 
work the butt of the scalpel between the skin and body so as to 


* In this connection I give two recipes, which will be found useful. Bent tail and 
wing feathers may be straightened by dipping in hot water; or, better yet, by holding 
them in a jet of steam—only in doing this beware of steaming the skin, or it will shrink. 
To remove grease, wash with turpentine and dry with plaster. One drawback in using 
plaster is the difficulty of removing all traces of it; but by gently beating and dusting 
this can be accomplished. 


836 How to Mount a Bird. 


push off the skin. From time to time put on a little plaster, to 
absorb the moisture from the body and to prevent the feathers from 
sticking to it. Work down until you reach the knee, when you push 
up the leg from without, insert the point of the scissors or scalpel 
under the bend, and cut through the joint. Continue to push up the 
leg and work down the skin until it is skinned as far down as possible. 
You will find the finger nails most useful for this purpose. Sever 
the tendons low down and tear off the muscles. Draw the leg back 
smoothly and skin the opposite one. Work the skin well away from 
the sides of the body and down to the base of the tail. Cut across 
the lower bowel, and, working the point of the scissors carefully under 
the lower part of the backbone, divide it just above the roots of the 
tail feathers. A bird’s skin is very thin just at this particular point. 
The operation above described requires much care, and at first occa- 
sionally results in de-tailing the bird. Work the skin cautiously 
away from the lower part of the back, not pulling it, but pushing it 
gently or cutting carefully at its junction with the body. You may 
find it convenient at this stage to hang the bird from a_ hook 
suspended over your work-table; but after a little practice this will be 
necessary only with large birds. The skin will now peel easily from 
the body until the shoulder joint is reached, when, if the bird is 
small, you cut through the arm bone half way between shoulder and 
elbow, or, if the bird is large, disjoint it.* As soon as the wings are 
cut loose, the skin comes easily away from the neck, and from now 
onward it will be necessary to support the skin, as otherwise its 
weight, especially in a good-sized bird, would be apt to stretch the 
neck. You now come to the base of the skull, and here you will 
meet with more or less trouble, for generally it is hard to get the 
head through the neck. In fact, some birds, such as ducks, wood- 
peckers, and the like, have such large heads that it is impossible to 
skin them through the neck. In such cases, sever the neck close to 
the skull, and, turning the skin right side out, make a cut along the 
top and back of the head. Through this opening the skull may be 
readily skinned out. Usually, however, you can coax away the skin 
until the ears are reached, or, rather, the delicate membrane lining 


* The arm bone must also be left entire if you wish to mount the bird with spread 
wings. 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 839 


ARGUS PHEASANT.* 


the passage. Cut through this, as near the skull as possible, insert- 
ing the scalpel point under the front portion, and picking it out. 
Having done this, you come almost immediately to the eyes, and 
here it requires careful cutting to detach the skin without injury to 
the eyelid. Be careful also not to cut into the eyeball, and thus 
let the inclosed fluid out on the feathers. Skin well down to the 
base of the bill; if you do not, the place where you left off will be 
marked by an unsightly ridge in the mounted bird. Take out the 
eyes, cut off the base and under part of the skull, and most of the 
brain, together with the tongue, will come away with the neck. 
Scrape the meat from the jaw, and all is done save skinning the 
wings. It may be allowable in small birds to skin the wings to the 
wrists, detaching the secondaries from the bone; but although it 
saves a little time, | would not recommend it. The better way is to 
remove the muscle on the fore-arm with forceps, after having worked 
down the skin as far as possible on the front edge of the wings. 
Poison the skull thoroughly, and put a little cotton in the eye-sock- 
ets,—enough to fill, but not distend them,—also bringing a thin flap 


* This illustration and the following were all drawn from specimens of the taxider- 
mist’s work. 


840 How to Mount a Bird. 


down over the angle of the jaw. Now work back the skin until you 
can catch the tip of the bill, and, holding on by it, gently push back the 
skin with the finger tips until the bird is right side out again. Now 
poison the body thoroughly, either by shoveling in the dry arsenic and 
working it into every cranny of the neck, wings, and legs, or by 
pasting on arsenical soap.* 

Get plenty of preservative on the roots of the tail, first removing 
the oil glands. Of course, the bird now looks a little mussy, but that 
is soon remedied. With the forceps or knitting-needle raise the 
feathers near the roots and let them drop into place. See that the 
wings and legs are not twisted. Insert the needle in the eye, run it 
between the skull and skin, and work the latter a little forward, for the 
chances are that the skin has been dragged backward in re-turning. 
Your bird is now skinned and lies before you ready for mounting, 
and for this you need certain materials and tools. The materials 
are: excelsior? for bodies, fine tow for necks and legs, and annealed 
iron wire of various sizes. Fine hay (rowen) or coarse tow makes 
good bodies where excelsior is not obtainable, and cotton may be 
used as a very foor substitute for tow. The necessary tools are: flat, 
round, and cutting pliers, a flat file, awls, a pair of eight-inch spring 
stuffing forceps, needles, thread, and pins. There are many other 
tools you will find handy; and among these I would strongly recom- 
mend a jeweler’s vise having a hole running lengthwise through the 
handle. This isa most serviceable instrument for wiring birds’ legs. 
Also, make yourself a few little pushers, by flattening one end of a 
wire six or eight inches long and filing a few notches in it. Bend 
the opposite end into a ring. Cut and straighten wires for the 
legs and body, making them amply long to allow for clinching 
and selecting wires for the legs sufficiently large to firmly support 
the finished bird. Sharpen both ends of the body wire and one end 
of the leg wires. The first step is to unite the wing bones with a 
thread, so that they are a little closer than they were originally. 
Fasten the thread to the bone toward the elbow, and not at the 


* My own method of applying the soap is as follows: After getting the skin right 
side out, I poison the neck and wings. When the false body is inserted, I turn down the 
skin a little and poison all around it, and finally I poison the legs just after they have 
been wired and wrapped. ‘Thus I lessen all chances of smearing the feathers. 

+ Excelsior is fine wood shavings, and can be obtained at any upholsterer’s. 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 841 


GREAT AUK, OR GARE FOWL. 


upper, or free, extremity. If a bird is to be mounted with spread 
wings, the first move is to wire them, by entering a wire from the 
inside just under the elbow, running it along over the lower bone of 
the fore-arm, and continuing it on the under side clear to the tip of 
the wing, there bringing it out. Simple as a description of this 
operation appears, it is rather difficult to perform, and you must pro- 
ceed slowly and carefully. Secure the wire to the upper arm bone 
just above the elbow, and again near its free extremity, and wind a 
very little tow around both. The wings are fastened to the body 


842 Flow to Mount a Bit. 


SCARLET IBIS AND YOUNG CROCODILE. 


in precisely the same manner as are the. legs,—hereafter to be 
described,— only, of course, the wing wires must be clinched first. 
Avoid the common mistake of starting the wings from the sides of 
the body, and place them well up on the back. 

Now, with the body of the bird lying before you, proceed to make 
one of excelsior to replace it. Note well the general shape of the 
natural body, but do not imagine that it is necessary to accurately 
copy it. Your work is to be externally and not internally correct, 
and what is wanted is the easiest and best method to make it 
fair to look upon. In ducks and water-birds generally the body is 
flattened from above downward; in waders it is flattened sidewise ; 
while in most others it is rather rounded. Mold the excelsior between 
the palms of your hands, and wind it tightly with fine twine or stout 
thread, adding a little material here and there to bring about the 
desired shape. Let the finished body be smooth, a trifle narrower on 
the back than on the breast, and let it be a little more pointed at the 
tail than the original. Above all things, make it firm and hard, for 
on the solidity of the body depends the stability of the bird and its 
ability to undergo without flinch- 
ing the twists and pulls it must 
undergo in posing. Try it in 
the skin, and if it does not fit, 
HOW ARHEL one make any required alterations. 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 843 


Take the body wire, bend it like a U, with one long and one short 
leg, and thrust them through the body from the posterior end so that 
the long wire may come out a little above the center; twist the 
two ends together for a turn or two, and cut off the shorter end. 
Holding the body in your right hand, you twist around the pro- 


YOUNG WATERFOWL. 


jecting wire enough fine tow to form the neck. AQ little practice 
will give you the knack of doing this so that the neck will be hard 
and smooth. It should be a trifle larger—not longer—than the 
original, because the feathers will lie a little closer in the mounted 
than in the living bird, and yet their necks must be of the same 
size outwardly.* 

If there is the slightest danger of the tow becoming loose, secure 
it by wrapping with fine thread; in fact, if you do this always, you 
will be saved much inconvenience and loss of temper. If your wire 


* Herons and some other birds have flattened necks, which are made in the fol- 
lowing manner: Wind a small neck on the body wire as above directed, and make a 
second roll on a separate and smaller wire. Uniting these two, you have a flat neck, 
which imitates the muscles and the wind-pipe. 


844 How to Mount a Bird. 


is sufficiently long, it will project beyond the tow neck from one to 
three inches, according to the size of the bird. Insert this in the neck 
of the skin, and carefully work the body up into the skin and the skin 
down over the body, bringing the wire out through the crown of the 
head, or a little in front of it. Be careful when you do this that the 
skin on top of the head is not drawn backward; for if this happens, the 
wire will hold it there and an unnatural look be the result. You will 
find a perverse tendency of the wire, especially in long-necked birds, to 
come out through the side of the neck. Work the neck up into the 
skin until it meets the base of the skull, adjust the feathers a little, 
and proceed with the legs. Insert the wire in the sole of the foot, 
and with a twisting motion force it slowly up the back of the leg, 
past the heel,—too often called knee,—until the point has entered 
what was the fleshy part of the leg. Then turn the leg inside out so 
that the wire may not catch the skin, and pull it through with a pair 
of pliers. The chances are ten to one that, for the first few times, the 
leg wire will insist on catching in the heel-joint or coming through 
the skin just above it; but we will suppose that the leg has been safely 
wired and that the wire projects for a short distance above the bone. 
The muscles of the leg are to be replaced by fine tow—cotton will do 
for small birds, but not at all for large ones—wound on smoothly 
until the leg nicely fits the skin. 

Observe that a bird’s leg has a most graceful taper, like that of 
an Indian club, and that it does not start abruptly from the bone. In 
turning back the skin, be sure that you do not get a twist in the leg, 
a very common and vexatious occurrence. If a bird is to be made 
walking, one leg must be wired from above downward, the wire 
being made to follow along the middle toe and brought out at the 
first joint. Many taxidermists do not deem it worth while to wrap 
the legs of small birds, but I do it to the very smallest; if it does 
nothing more, it at least prevents the wire from coming in contact 
with the skin and possibly rusting through. Having made the legs, 
the next step is to secure them to the body, and this is done by 
thrusting the wires through it, bending them back, and finally clinching 
the points on the sides from which they started. Three points should 
be specially looked after: first, that the legs are solidly attached ; sec- 
ond, that they are not too high up,—z. ¢., too near the back,—and, 
third, that they are well forward. Most amateurs, and not a few pro- 


Flow to Mount a Btrd. 845 


fessionals, bring a bird’s knees altogether too near his tail, the result 
being a very awkward-looking creature. As a rule, a bird’s heels 
come about opposite the base of the tail. All birds of prey have 
the knees very free,—outside the body, as it were,—while just the 
reverse is true of swimmers and divers. Bend the legs backward, 


OWLET. 


see that they are of the same length, and adjust the feathers a little. 
With the long forceps and pushers, work some finely cut tow smoothly 
around the base of the skull and top of the neck. I have never seen 
this advised, and yet it is a very necessary proceeding in order to 
secure the best results. It is of special importance in mounting owls, 
in order to impart that roundness of the head so characteristic of 
those birds. You may also put a little filling in the upper throat. 
Turn the bird face downward, and with the thumb and finger lift up 
and work together the skin on the upper part of the shoulders and 
lower part of the neck, at the same time working the wings toward 
each other. It is well to repeat this operation from time to time, 
as a little attention here does much to prevent the bare spots on the 
sides of the neck from showing in the finished specimen. Bend a 
sharp-pointed wire into a T-shape, the point being on the upright 
portion, and run it through the base of the tail, just below the cen- 
tral feathers and well into the body. In doing this, be careful not to 
get the wire de¢weex the feathers; for if you do, nothing can induce 
the tail to spread evenly. Ina living bird, the tail feathers are moved 


546 How to Mount a Bird. 


HEAD OF SAIGA. 


together, no one more than another; and it must be your aim to 
secure this beautiful uniformity. Now begin at the lower part of the 
opening and sew up the cut, inserting a little filling—cut tow—from 
time to time in such places as may want it. You will very likely 
need some around the base of the tail, and assuredly some around 
and above the knees, to imitate the thighs and join the legs smoothly 
to the body. Possibly there will be some wanted on the breast ; 
although this will not be the case if you have made the body cor- 
rectly. Do not be surprised if in sewing up the opening you cannot 
quite make the edges of the cut meet. The skin —especially of thin- 
skinned birds—dries and shrinks here very rapidly, and nature has 
kindly provided birds with feathers which conceal many of the short- 
comings of the taxidermist. But in ducks and other birds with thick 
skins and ‘short, dense feathers you must make both sides meet. 
Apparently, the bird is now nearly finished, but in reality it is very far 


flow to Mount a Bird. 847 


from completion. Your bird may be well wired, correctly put 
together, and smoothly filled, but if it is not placed in a proper 
attitude, all goes for naught. True, very much depends on all this 
preliminary work, and it needs to be 
thoroughly well done in order to make 
the mounted bird a success; but from 
now onward, every touch tells. 

Dress the feathers a little with your 
small forceps, catching them low down, 
raising them and letting them fall into 
place, or pulling them gently into posi- 
tion here and there as occasion may 
demand. Adjust the legs, bringing the 
heels a little nearer together than are 
the knees, while at the same time you 
put them at the proper distance from the 
body. In ordinary positions of perching 
birds, very little of the leg shows above 
the heel, while the heels themselves are 
brought near the body. The reverse of 
this is true in running and wading birds. 
A great deal, too, depends on having 
the proper angle between the tibia and 
tarsus, and you will soon discover that 
there is much power of expression in a 
bird’s feet and legs. A very common 4 sourn american MONKEY. 
mistake is that of making small birds stand too upright. Notice 
the sparrows as they hop about the street, or observe your pet 
canary, and you will see how a bird’s legs should be placed. In 
parrots, the heel is usually below the line of the foot; and the owl 
shows his relationship with the parrot by bringing his heels so far 
backward and downward that only the feet project beyond the long, 
fluffy feathers of the breast. Many swimming birds, on the con- 
trary, hold their legs almost as straight as sticks, the gull being an 
extreme case. When you are in doubt regarding a given point, 
consult a living bird and you will get much valuable information, 
not seldom some that is quite at variance with your pet theories. 
Having placed the feet, it is time to transfer the bird to a temporary 


848 flow to Mount a Bird. 


perch ; and be sure that the base to this is solid, and that the cross- 
bar is securely nailed on, so that you may twist your bird about 
without pulling your perch to pieces or tipping it over. If on stand- 
ing the bird upright you find that the back is not round enough, or 
the breast too flat, or that you have omitted to put any filling in the 


THE BELL BIRD, OR CAMPANERO. 


sides,—and these mistakes frequently occur,—now is the time to 
remedy the deficiency. Make an incision, lengthwise of the body, 
under the wing, and with your little pushers introduce enough cut 
tow to fill the vacancy. At first the pushers will go awry and the 
tow roll into balls or work into the wrong place; but draw liberally 
on your stock of patience, and with a little practice all will go well. It 
is usually unnecessary to sew up the cut under the wing, as it is quite 
hidden; but if the bird be a good-sized one, a stitch or two may not 
be amiss. Bearing in mind the fact that a bird’s neck is not straight, 
but a double curve like the letter S, you imitate this shape as follows: 
Bend the head and neck forward, and grasp the bird by the back with 
your left hand, the tip of the forefinger resting against the base of the 
neck. With the right hand press the head and upper neck back- 


How to Mount a Bird. 849 


GOLDEN EAGLE. 


ward, and the lower curve is made. In shaping the upper part of 
the neck, the mistake is frequently made of crooking the neck itself 
too much, whereas it should be curved but little, the effect being 
produced by bending the head sharply downward. If these instruc- 
tions seem somewhat prolix, believe me they are not too much so, 
for a common fault of works in taxidermy is that they are deficient 
in detail and fail to draw attention to the little points whereon 
hinges the success of the completed work. Now see if the eyes are 
in the same plane, and not one higher than the other, and look to it 
that the center of gravity is all right. Your bird should look as if 
he were resting on perch or pedestal, and not as if he would pitch 
forward were the wires removed. Having settled these two points 
satisfactorily, proceed with the wings, the first step being to get their 
tips even. Living birds often carry their wings in a very slovenly 
manner, but they rarely have their tips out of line. The frequency 
with which one wing will insist on coming out wrong is more 
remarkable than amusing ; and it occasionally requires the outlay of 
54 


850 How to Mount a Bird. 


considerable time to induce them to look equally well. The scapu- 
laries, or feathers on the shoulders, are often troublesome and require 
coaxing into place. A very handy tool for this purpose is a darning- 
needle fastened in a short handle, or you may sharpen one end of 
your knitting-needle. 


A LITTLE STRANGER FROM THE TROPICS. 


This you thrust into the roots of the feathers, and with a com- 
bined lifting and twisting motion bring them where they belong. 
Trouble with the scapularies often arises from one of two causes, which 
I mention in order that you may guard against them. The first is 
too much filling in the back, or between the wing bones and the skin. 
The second is filling worked into and distending the bare spot that 
runs from the sides of the neck down over the wings. The wings 
are secured to the body with from one to three wires, according to 
the size of the bird and the amount of pains you wish to take. The 
first wire—and this is never omitted—runs slightly downward and 
backward through the wrist or bend of the wing; the second is in- 
serted between the bones of the fore-arm near the elbow, and points 
forward ; while the third you enter near the tuft of feathers known as 
the spurious wing, and direct upward. Beware of running a wire 
between the roots of the primaries; for if they are thus wedged apart, 
nothing but changing the wire will induce them to lie as they should. 
Next arrange the tail feathers, which may be done in several ways, 
the easiest and least satisfactory of which is to reverse the manner 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 851 


TB bird s., | 


A FAMILY OF SCREECH OWLS. 


in which they naturally lie, so that they lap «zder from the outer- 
most feather. The best plan is to place a piece of cardboard above 
and another below the tail, and secure them tightly together with 
pins, thus holding every feather securely. For very large birds with 
widespread tails it will be necessary to run a wire through all the 


quills near the base of the tail—a tedious and aggravating oper- 
ation, but one which is sure to hold. Whichever plan is adopted, 
remember what was said previously —that the feathers of the tail are 
always equidistant. Insert a little filling in the upper part of the 
throat if it needs it, but be careful not to get too much there, which, 
by the way, is a very common fault. Tie the bill together by run- 
ning a thread through the nostrils and around the lower mandible, 
or run a pin into the skull from below in such manner as to secure it. 
And now, after a careful inspection and final dressing with the light 
forceps, the bird is ready to be wound; and on the manner in which 
this is done depends much of the bird’s smoothness and general good 
looks. If the winding is slovenly and careless, it will undo a great 


852 How to Mount a Bird. 


BIRD, WRAPPED. 


deal of previous good work; if neat and careful, it will greatly 
enhance it. Place small, square pieces of paper over the wires which 
fasten the wings, and make ready from six to ten long pins or sharp- 
ened wires. If pins are used, tie a bit of coarse, waxed thread 
around them about a quarter of an inch below the heads, and leave 
the ends sticking out for about the same distance. _ If wires are used, 
bend the unsharpened end into a U shape. Place from three to five 
wires in line along the back and as many more along the breast, and 
use soft, light thread for winding. Begin by making a few turns 
quite around the bird in order to secure all feathers, and then pro- 
ceed systematically, first with one wing then with the other, then 
with the back and breast. Let the thread lie lightly on such places 
as are smooth and in place, and gently press down any spots which 
are too high. Never try to produce a depression by a single turn of 
the thread, but use several at minute intervals. The use of the bend 
in the wires and the thread around the pins is this: it keeps the 
thread from touching the plumage where pressure would be injuri- 
ous. Thus, by winding around and back from the upper series of 
wires, you can secure the breast and sides without bearing down any 
of the feathers on the back, and wzce versd. I have dwelt at length 
on this winding process, because there are but few who seem to 
realize its importance or go about it in a systematic manner.* 


* Tt is but just that credit should be given to Mr. F. S. Webster for this method 
of winding, a still more detailed account of which, written by him, appeared in the 
Report of the Society of American Taxidermists for 1881-82. 


Flow to Mount a Bird. 853 


Do not put in the eyes until the bird is thoroughly dry, the reason 
for this being that you run the risk of disturbing the feathers of the 
fresh skin in setting them, or that the shrinkage of the skin may 
leave them bulging out of their sockets. A little cotton moistened 
in warm water and placed in the orbits will soon relax them. Imbed 
the eyes in putty, or stick them in with mucilage, the former method 
being my own preference. Press them well in, and with the point 
of a needle carefully adjust the eyelids. If the eyelid has become 
stretched, catch it up with a fine thread behind the eye. Now cut off 
the wrapping, pull out the wires in the back and breast, and cut off 
those in the head, tail, and wings, and your specimen is ready to 
transfer to its final support. This may be a neatly turned stand,— 
a twig fastened to a neat base or made to hang against the wall, or 
a section of a tree-trunk. Gnarled and water-worn roots form ex- 
cellent pedestals for owls, ducks, and herons. Rough cork, just as it 
comes off the tree, makes excellent rock-work, with the addition of a 
little paint and a few lichens. Of course you will wish to make some 
groups of birds, but when you do so, strive to avoid a mere hetero- 
geneous gathering, and endeavor to find some excuse for calling the 
birds together, or to make a group that shall form a harmonious 
picture ; and in every case try to catch the spirit of the bird as well 
as its outward aspect. 


544 


BOW-SHOOTING. 


y 
By MAURICE THOMPSON, 


AUTHOR OF ‘‘ THE WITCHERY OF ARCHERY," ETC. 


ANY nations and tribes of men have been famous for their 
archery. The Parthians, Carduchians, Scythians, and Per- 
A sians are mentioned by the old writers as mighty bowmen. 
Some of the American Indians are very expert, though by no 
means graceful or powerful archers. Much has been spoken and 
printed of the wonderful effect of Indian arrows at long range. It 
is all imagination. The best Sioux, Navajo, or Comanche archer 
would rarely be able to hit a man at eighty yards. But the yeomen 
of ‘‘ Merrie Englande” were the world’s most excellent archers. No 
doubt they, too, have been favorably misrepresented by loving his- 
torians. We should not be slow to forgive those who doubt the 
difficult feats in the story of Robin Hood. He never did hit a willow 
wand three hundred or two hundred yards, three shots in succession; 
nevertheless, those bowmen who followed the old lords of England in 
the days of Crécy and Agincourt, and Flodden Field and Bannock- 
burn and Neville’s Cross, were crack shots, and sent their shafts with 
such force that it took the best Spanish mail to withstand them. No 
doubt Robin Hood performed a good deal of fancy shooting; but 
that he “told” every rivet and joint of a knight’s armor at long 
range with his arrow-points is a pretty tough story for an archer to 
believe. For one, however, I gladly accept the stories of Robin's 
poaching proclivities, and the great havoc he made with the game 
wherever he chose to hunt. 
Taking wild game has nearly ceased to be reckoned among the 
means of gaining a livelihood, and has fallen, or risen, as one may 
view it, to the level of a sport or means of recreation from the 


Bow - Shooting. 855 


exhaustion and depression consequent to the civilized methods of 
self-destruction called business. 

I wish by this paper to show that if the long-bow were adopted 
as the sporting weapon of the world, game would increase every- 
where, while expert sportsmen would get all that they could desire 
from their favorite pastime, as regards both mental and physical 
recreation and a goodly weight in the game-bag. I speak con- 
2 


fidently on this subject, having fifteen years of happy experience in 


archery to draw from. 

I was yet in my teens when I was taught the use of the long-bow 
by Thomas Williams, a sort of hermit, whose cabin stood in the 
midst of a vast pine forest that bordered my father’s plantation in the 
beautiful Cherokee country of North Georgia. My brother and | 
had, in a boyish way, been practicing archery for some years before 
Williams gave us lessons; but, though we had of our own efforts be- 
come expert in the making and use of our weapons, we found, to our 
chagrin, that before we could dare call ourselves bowmen all we had 
learned must go for naught, and an art must be mastered, the difficul- 
ties of which at first seemed insurmountable. Williams was a better 
archer than either of us can ever hope to be; but he was ashamed 
for any man to see him out with his bow and quiver. 

Before entering upon the subject of using the bow and arrows, 
let us examine the weapons and their necessary accompaniments, so 
that we may clearly understand the few technicalities connected with 
a discussion of archery. 

Figure 1 of the diagram on the opposite page is a good representa- 
tion of a long-bow after the best English model. It is six feet from 
tip to tip, as it lies unstrung, and is made of lemon-wood, lance-wood, 
or yew. Figure 2 shows the weapon strung ready for use, which 
shortens it three or three and.a half inches. This bow is the kind | 
have used for years. It has a plush handle and horn nock-tips. _ Its 
wood is yellow as gold, straight-grained, waxy in appearance, heavy, 
springy as steel and flexible as whalebone. It was made by Philip 
Highfield, London. The string is of the best white hemp, slack 
twisted, stiffly waxed, and whipped with silk at the ends and middle. 
By referring to the detail drawings and examining the cross-section 
and representation of the nocks and the handle, any one possessed 
of ordinary mechanical skill can, from a well-seasoned billet of common 


856 Bow - Shooting. 


mulberry or sassafras wood, make 
an excellent bow with which to 
begin practice. 

The two arrows represented in 
the figure are those used for hunting 
purposes. The best target arrows, 
for use in the game of archery, are 
for sale by all dealers in sporting 
implements. (Ask for the best- 
footed, whole nock, Highfield ar- 
rows, $9.00 per dozen.) But your 
hunting arrows cannot be procured 
in the market. No manufacturer 


makes them. You must first know 
what you want, then stand by some 
good workman till he has satisfied 
you. The barbed shaft in the illus- 
tration I have made as follows: 
twenty-eight inches long, of hickory, 
perfectly straight, even, and smooth, 
a little less than one-third of an inch 
in diameter, well-seasoned and oiled. 
The thin, flat, barbed head is set 
in a slit sawed for it, and fastened 
by fine brass wire, as shown in 
the detail drawings on the next 


3 ; I. BOW (UNSTRUNG); 2. BOW (STRUNG) ; 
page. The feathering is a most 3. sarBep ArKrow; 4. BLUNT ARROW; 5. QUIVER 


important and difficult thing to ac- SB eARETT det 

complish, and upon this depends largely the value of your arrow. After 
you have set the head in one end of your shaft and cut a deep, safe 
nock in the other, glue three strips of feather on, three inches from 
the nock and four inches long, running toward the head, so arranged 
as to stand at an angle of one hundred and twenty degrees to one 
another, and slightly spiral, so as to give a turning motion to the 
arrow as it flies. The blunt arrows used for shooting small game, 
and wild-wood birds not game, of the size of a pheasant, or smaller, 
are made precisely as above, excepting that a ferrule of pewter or 
harder metal is substituted for the barbed point. The shaft must be 


Bow- Shooting. 857 


cp exactly straight, smooth, and even, 
Gi as already stated. The slightest 
inequality or crook will spoil the 

: chance of accurate shooting. <A 


es good quiver is made of stiff har- 


AW 


; ness leather, circular, three and a 
\\) 


half inches in diameter, eighteen 
inches deep, and decorated to suit 
your fancy. It is worn attached 


A. Section of Bow; &. Handle of Bow; C, Arrow nock ; 5 ¢; 
D. Section of Arrow through feather; £. Steelhead; to a belt passing around the waist 


F. Slit in shaft to recive head; G. Head wired on 

or slung diagonally to the shoul- 

der. Shooting-gloves I never use, and cannot recommend. A brace, 

or wrist-guard, may or may not be necessary, according to the con- 

formation of the joints. It is a stiff piece of smooth leather curved 

to fit over the left fore-arm and wrist, and made to fasten with elastic 
straps, as shown in Figure 6. 

Now, to string your bow. Observe, first, that the handle is a 
little nearer to one nock than to the other. The longer end of the 
bow is the upper one in shooting. To string the weapon, fasten the 
cord well in the lower end nock, so that the loop made at the other 
end of the cord shall pass around 
the bow about three or four 
inches, or less, from the upper 
nock,—the variation in this dis- 
tance to regulate the amount of 
tension. Now, place the lower 
end of the bow in the hollow 
of your right foot planted firmly 
on the ground; clasp the handle 
of your weapon with your right 
hand; place the heel of your left 
palm on the upper end and back 
of the bow, just below the string- 
loop; draw the bow toward you 
with your right and push it from 
you with your left hand. This 
will bend the bow. Now slip 
the loop up into the nock with 


STRINGING THE BOW. 


858 Bow - Shooting. 


the thumb and forefinger of the 
left hand. Your bow is strung, 
and the cord stands about five 
: \ or six inches from the handle. 
The accompanying cut shows the 
archer in the act of shooting. 
The arrow rests on the left hand, 
and is drawn to the head. The 
nock end of the shaft is held be- 
tween the first and second fin- 
gers of the right hand and upon 
the string, which is drawn to the 
right ear by all the fingers being 
hooked stiffly over it. The re- 
lease must be smart and clear, 
giving the arrow a strong, even 
flight. 

Archery as a game needs but 
few words of description. Two 
targets of straw, faced with can- 
vas, upon which are painted four 
concentric rings and a bull’s-eye, 
are placed at any desired dis- 
tance apart, facing each other. 
The competing archers stand by 
one target and shoot three arrows each at the other target, then walk 
forward and reverse the direction of their shots. By this method 
the exercise of shooting is combined with that of walking. The 
score is kept as follows: bull’s-eye, 9; first ring, 7; second ring, 5; 
third ring, 3; fourth, or outermost ring, 1. 

Archery clubs of from seven to fifteen members, both ladies and 
gentlemen, could be formed all over the country more easily, at less 
expense, and with far better results than cricket, croquet, or base- 
ball clubs. The rules governing such organizations should be few 
and simple, not unlike those of rifle clubs. Prizes could be offered 
and medals of championship adopted. Once brought into public 
notice and fairly established, no sport or game would be half so 
popular or permanent. It has in it all the elements of desirable 


DRAWING THE BOW. 


Bow - Shooting. 859 


pastime and recreation. The physical exercise is better than fencing, 
boxing, or lifting; it has every feature of an exciting competitive 
game, is attended with no danger, and ‘‘shows off” the human form 
to the very best advantage,— all its poses being those of grace, ease, 
and power combined. 

From the earliest days of successful archery in England, green 
has been the bowman’s favorite color, and all his metal decorations 
have been of silver. Clubs have, therefore, generally chosen a 
uniform in which leaf green is the prevailing color, and their badges 


and medals have been wrought of silver,—a ring, a crescent, or a 
richly chased arrow being the commonest device. 

In giving directions how to shoot, I cannot hope to improve on 
the simple language of the old disciple of the bow, Roger Ascham, 
who, in 1545, wrote a little book on the subject of archery, entitled 
“ Toxophilus,” in which he says: 

“The first point is, when a man should shoot, to take such footing and standing as 
shall be both comely to the eye and profitable to his use, setting his countenance and 
all other parts of his body after such a behavior and port, that both all his strength 
may be employed to his own most advantage and his shot made and handled to other 
men’s pleasure and delight. A man must not go too hastily to it, for that is rashness, 
nor yet make too much to do about it, for that is curiosity; the one foot must not 
stand too far from the other, lest he stoop too much, which is unseemly, nor yet too near 
together, lest he stand too straight up, for so a man shall neither use his strength well, 
nor yet stand steadfastly. The mean betwixt both must be kept, a thing more pleasant 
to behold when it is done, than easy to be taught how it should be done.” 


A little care at first will save you a great deal of trouble and 
annoyance. When you begin to shoot, learn at once to stand firmly 
on your feet, the left slightly advanced, the head easily poised, the 
upper portion of the body gently inclined forward, and the shoulders 
neither lifted nor drooped. Hold the bow vertically with the left 
hand, the arm extended straight. Nock the arrow well on the string, 
draw with all the fingers of your right hand, till you feel your right 
ear, fix your eyes steadily on the target, and let fly. The shaft will 
sing through the air with a sound peculiarly musical, and hit with a 
force that will surprise you, even though at first you use a bow of but 
forty pounds’ weight, 7. ¢., one which requires a draft of but forty 
pounds to draw a 28-inch arrow to the head. 

Forty yards from target to target is a long enough range to 
begin practice with, and it might well be not over half that length. 


360 Bow - Shooting. 


In fact, though many of the Eng- 
lish clubs scorn to shoot less than 
a hundred yards, my experience 
goes that fifty or sixty paces 
measure about the longest cer- 
tain range for the average archer, 
using a bow of not over fifty-five 
pounds’ weight. Few ladies are 
able to use a bow stronger than 
thirty-five or forty pounds, and it 
requires a man of the strongest 
muscle to draw a ninety-pound 
one. [| recommend a bow under 
rather than over your strength, 
for accurate, easy shooting. 


If you begin your practice for 


the purpose of learning to shoot 
wild game by “field and flood,” 
you must not use a target at all. 
One who is trained to aim at a 
large, graduated target, either 


with gun or bow, can rarely 


AIMING HIGH. 


shoot well at game. The reason 
is that in target shooting at a fixed distance he gets used to a certain 
size, color, and condition of éackgvound, and when he gets into the 
woods and lifts his bow to draw on a bird or a hare, his accustomed 
rings and dark background are not there. His vision is blurred, he 
draws waveringly, and shoots indifferently. A black rubber ball four 
inches in diameter, suspended in mid-air by a string fastened to the 
low limb of an apple-tree, makes a first-rate substitute for a bird, and 
a small bag of straw, placed flat on the ground and shot at at about 
twenty-five yards, makes good hare practice. You will soon learn 
the great advantage of not using the same distance all the time, as in 
the game of archery, 

Your first practice-on wild things should be carefully done, choos- 
ing the tamest and least wary of birds, in order that you may make 
short shots and observe how near you come to hitting your mark. 
You must not think of game till you have shown your ability to hit 


Bow - Shooting. 361 


A GOOD TARGET. 


a woodpecker or meadow-lark at twenty paces—not every shot, nor 
once in five, or in twenty, even; but you must get well used to shoot- 
ing at these birds and to hitting one occasionally before you can 
approach a hare or a quail with any degree of calmness. You need 
not fear that woodpecker-shooting will prove poor sport. Some of 
my happiest bouts in the woods have owed all their charm to the 
excitement of chasing an ivory-bill, a red-head, or a speckled “sap- 
sucker” from tree to tree, whacking away at him whenever he got 
still, watching the flight of my arrow as it whisked past him or struck 
close by him with a ringing rap like the blow of a hammer, till at last 
I plumped him over, stringing him half-way down my shaft. 


562 Low - Shooting. 


Three things are requisite to bird-shooting with the bow. — First, 
you must know how to measure distance with the eye accurately and 
quickly ; secondly, you must be quick and noiseless in your move- 
ments; thirdly, you must draw uniformly, that is, put the same power 
on every shot, no matter how near or far the bird may be. When 
you begin to shoot in the woods, after considerable experience and 
success at target practice, you will discover that to be a good shot is 
not the half of what it takes to make you a tolerable bird-slayer. 
Some of the finest shots you will ever make will be misses, and some 
of the poorest will be center hits. 

You will never be a good shot till all the operations of archery are 
performed as naturally and almost as involuntarily as your breathing. 
A meadow-lark shows his yellow breast in a bunch of clover blos- 
soms thirty yards ahead — you pause instantly, throw up your bow 
quickly, gracefully, draw an arrow to the head, let go sharply —all 
with as little effort and with precisely the same half voluntary, half 
mechanical accuracy with which you take so many steps in walking. 
Your arrow flies with a keen hiss straight to the mark and knocks 
the bird over and over amid a cloud of gold feathers and clover 
leaves. When you can do this one time out of five, you may begin to 
call yourself an archer and look about for game. But even then I 
will wager you a good bow you miss your first hare, though you 
may find him crouched in his form not twenty feet from your nose. 
In fact, while a hare is a good large target, he 1s very difficult to hit 
before one has learned by experience just how to aim at him. 

In still-hunting you will generally find him in his form, his body 
and neck elongated, his ears flat, his chin resting on his fore-feet; he 
is fast asleep with his round eyes open. He looks larger by half 
than he really is, which is apt to cause you to aim indifferently and 
shoot carelessly. You draw with great deliberation and let drive. 
Whack goes your arrow through the grass in which he lies, but to 
your utter amazement up springs the frightened hare and scuds away 
like a bit of gray paper before a gust of wind. You do not get another 
shot at him. He hunts his hole. Upon examination you find that 
you have overshot him, and your arrow will be sticking in the ground 
just beyond his form, and slanting back across it toward you. This 
is your first and most important lesson in hare-shooting. Hereafter 
you will aim low. Yes, too low entirely ; for your next hare gets 


Bow - Shooting. 863 


out of his form before you see him, 
and after a few long, lazy bounds, 
squats on his haunches and waits 
for you to shoot at him. You aim 
low and let fly and have the 
chagrin to see your arrow strike 


full ten feet short! The hare re- 


WHAT YOU AIMED AT. 


solves himself into an ecstasy of 
billowy ambulation, outrunning the other by several seconds on the 
mile, and you are left pensively leaning on your bow, longing for a 
shot-gun! The third time is the 
charm, mayhap, and you bowl 
your game over in fine style. A 
week or two of daily practice in 
good hare-cover will get you well 


up toward successful shooting at 


WHEN THE ARROW GOT THERE. 


this game ; then you will be ready 
for quail and pheasant. These birds are so similar in their habits 
that to know one is to be pretty well acquainted with the other. 
You hunt them on damp, cloudy days with a very small dog, to 
escape which they fly up and alight on the lower limbs of trees 
and hedge shrubs or the stakes of worm fences. This gives you 
rare sport, and shot by shot you knock down your birds. 

Thus you gradually advance in the science and art of archery till 
you become a ‘crack shot,” able to match any ordinary rifleman at 
forty yards. I can now leave you and proceed to give some notes 
on a few of the many hunting-grounds I have shot over with the 
long-bow. But first a word about the dress of a wild-wood archer. 
Your angler has his suit, your gunner has his; why may not the 
archer affect a peculiar garb? He does. It consists of low-legged 
jack-boots, corduroy breeches, a green-checked hickory shirt, and 
a broad-brimmed, light, soft felt hat. If the weather is chilly or cold, 
a heavy flannel shirt may be worn under the hickory, or a close- 
fitting jacket may be put on over it. The main object is to keep 
your clothes down to the minimum in weight, and at the same time 
have no skirts or lappels to hinder your shooting. 

Florida was the first grand hunting-ground visited by my brother 
and myself. After a year or two of training under Williams and a 


864 Low - Shooting. 


great deal of hunting among the hills and along the fine streams of 
North Georgia had made real archers of us, we spent three winters 
there, shooting over some of the finest water and land region for 
sporting to be found in the world. My note-books are full of inci- 
dents, some of which are fresh to me as I read them over. But I 
cannot do more here than pick out two or three of the most striking. 
The reader must not expect to get even a glimpse of the dark side. 
One does not care to write or read about failures, disappointments, 
vexatious delays, worrying accidents, and ill-luck generally,—these 
things come frequently to every sportsman. Some days he can find 
no game; some days he finds everything and can hit nothing; 
sometimes he breaks a bow, sometimes he loses all his arrows. The 
successful day, the ‘brilliant shot,” the exciting chase ending in 
capture, the long-range hit when I expected to miss—these are all 
down in my field-books, along with rough drawings of the birds, 
curious plants, strange insects, 
notable trees, and whatever 
happened to strike me as worth 
future thought. 

Our party in Florida con- 
sisted of three,—Will and my- 
self and Casar—an inky, mid- 
night black man, who acted 
as cook, washerman, boatman, 
everything except sportsman. 
Czesar was a source of amuse- 
ment to us. In fact, his face 
was so comically dull and heavy, 
and yet so plashed over with 
evidences of a keen sense and 
keener love of the ludicrous, 
that a single contortion of its 
outlines was enough to make 
one laugh. 

We camped once for a week 
on Lower Indian River, and it 
was there that I made a shot of 
which I have some hesitancy in 


Bow - Shooting. 865 


speaking, so sure am | that its history must appear apocryphal, and I 
have no means of proving its truth. Our tent was pitched in a clump 
of palmetto trees, on a low jut of shore overlooking the frith of a lagoon 
of the river. A visiting party, composed of Mr. Willis Lloyd Parker 
and friends, of London, England, had just left us, making us a part- 
ing present of five bottles of pale sherry; so we planned to have a 
quiet dinner to the memory of our guests. Will was to go down the 


OUR CAMP ON INDIAN, RIVER. 


river for wild-fowl, while I pushed up the lagoon in a canoe, hoping 
to get a young turkey or two from a flock I had seen a few days 
before on a sort of island. Casar remained at the tent to take care 
of things. An hour of leisurely pulling over a still dead sheet of 
dark water brought me to where the lagoon iorks at a sharp angle, 
flowing on either side of a densely wooded tongue of land, to where, 
a mile away, a barely perceptible shallow slough runs across from 
prong to prong, thus making a triangular island, barely separated 
from the main-land by this slough, over which deer or turkey could 
easily pass at low tide. I had caught sight of a late-hatched brood 
of turkey just at twilight one evening as I was passing this point, 
but they turned and ran into a thicket, and I did not care to follow 
them with only a few minutes of day-time to spare. I had come 
prepared for them now, and, looking about for a landing-place, I 
drew the canoe into a reéntrant angle of the shore, and secured it 
just as the sun of a semi-tropical winter day made glorious all the 
points of the flat verdurous landscape. Strapping on my quiver and 
stringing my bow, I plunged into the marshy wood where vines, moss, 
low-hanging boughs, tufts of palmetto and saw-palm made progress 
at times a matter of great labor, and attended with so much noise 


Se) 


866 Bow - Shooting. 


ON THE EDGE OF THE WOODS. 


that such a thing as getting near a turkey was impossible. Farther 
in, however, a broad glade or meadow of low, coarse grass opened 
before me, on the opposite rim of which I saw the birds skulking 
quietly along far beyond bow-shot. The only feasible method of 
approach was to slip around the edge of the glade just inside the 
fringe of cover. To do this involved time and patient toil, but your 
archer is used to such tedious strategy. Foot by foot, rod by rod, 
stealthily as a cat, | made my way, till at length I came to a break 
in the cover, to pass which would be sure to expose me to the birds. 
They were fully one hundred and fifty yards away, moving slowly, 
close together, in a direction ‘‘ quartering” to me. A few more 
steps, and they would be in the jungle. I must have a shot. My 
only chance was to risk the luck of a long-range flight at them, so I 
braced myself for a steady pull, elevated my bow-arm, drew to my 
ear, and let go a shaft. At the sound of the recoil of my weapon, 
the turkeys stopped, lifted their heads, and began that sharp cry of 
‘“Pit—pit!” so well known to sportsmen. Meantime, my arrow 
went singing through the elongated parabola of its flight. I watched 
it with that fixed eagerness which always attends a moment of intense 
suspense. A little breeze was blowing, but it did not seem to affect 
the course of the shaft. Swiftly it swept down, and I saw the feathers 
shatter out from the back of one of the turkeys, which tried to rise, 
but could not. It was a ‘solid hit,” as we terim it, and the bird was 
done for. The others of the flock took rapidly to wing, and soon 


Bow - Shooting. 367 


curved into cover. ‘This is the 
longest successful bow-shot we 
have recorded. It must be 
noted, however, that I did not 
shoot at any particular bird, 
but at the flock, and of course 
“much good luck” was a strong 
element in influencing — the 
result.* 

On approaching my turkey, 
I found it pierced through the 
spine and lungs, quite dead. | 
spent an hour or two after this 
beating about the island, but 
saw no more of the flock. 
Three deer got up before me, 
and in following them I passed 
around an arm of the lagoon. Before I was aware of it, | had betan- 
gled myself in a jungle, from which it took me two hours more to 
extricate myself, and it was two o'clock when I reached my canoe. 
Feeling pretty hungry, I did not dally much in returning to the tent. 
When I reached it, however, Cassar was not there, and no prepara- 
tions for dinner were visible. I lay down to smoke and rest. Ina few 
minutes Will came in, tired too; but Casar could not be heard from, 
though we called him in no gentle way. Finally, we had to make a 
fire and prepare the dinner ourselves. We roasted the turkey, 
which, being only about half-grown, cooked easily, and Will made 
some excellent coffee. We had sailor’s biscuit, some pickles, onions, 
canned fruit, and then the wine; but when we came to look for the 
last-named article, not a bottle could be found! O Cesar, what 
unfeeling treachery! We understood the matter now, and a little 
search discovered him lying under a palmetto-tree, sleeping the 


A SUCCESSFUL SHOT. 


sleep of the very drunk. By his side were all the bottles, two of 


* While on the subject of long shots, I must give to Captain H. H. Talbott, of our 
Crawfordsville (Indiana) Archery Club, the credit of one of the fairest and finest, which 
was made in the presence of several witnesses. He hit a golden-winged woodpecker, 
a bird not quite so large as a dove, at a measured distance of seventy-nine yards. 
This, of course, is a better record than mine above given. 


863 Bow -Shooting. 


ALONG THE BAY. 


them nearly empty! We threatened to trounce him roundly when he 
got sober; but that great black, appealing face repelled our anger, 
and we forgave him. 

I cannot think of camp life in Florida without longing to talk and 
write glowingly of it, but this paper must be a “practical” one. I 
am sure of this, however: no man ever went to Florida with a shot- 
gun and found such sport, such exercise, such exhilarating pastime 
and recreation, as he could have found had he been an accomplished 
archer. Much of our time there was spent heron-shooting, and every 
sportsman knows what a wary, wild, almost unapproachable bird the 
heron is. Let me here say that woodcraft is probably the most 
important and most difficult part of all an archer’s training. To bea 
successful hunter with the bow, you must know perfectly all the 


Bow - Shooting. 869 


habits of your game; you must be stealthy and sly as an Indian, not 
the least excitable, patient, watchful, storing up in your memory 
every item of experience; and, above all, you must be keen-sighted 
and steady of hand. For to get within good bow-shot of your game 
is of the first value, and scarcely second to this is the power of 
instantly centering all your faculties in the act of shooting. 

To show how a perfectly trained archer manages his approach to 
very wary game under circumstances of extreme difficulty, let me 
describe how Will worked his way to within forty yards of a snowy 
heron. The great white bird was sitting on the top of an old 
cypress-stump about twenty yards out in a shallow pond, and we 
were lying on a green tussock six hundred yards away. We had 
been talking about the great difficulty of getting a shot at him, and 
finally one of us remarked that it would be evidence of the very 
highest skill if a hunter should show himself able to outwit that old 
heron, and get within fair shooting distance of him. Finally, Will 
determined to try his luck, on condition that he should be considered 
champion if he succeeded. 

The ground between us and the pond in which the cypress-stump 
stood was covered with thin, stiff grass, about knee high, with here 
and there tall tufts of broad-leaved aquatic weeds growing around 
little puddles of water. Will's method of procedure was to lie down 
in the grass, and snake himself along from one of these tufts to an- 
other, which would have been rapid enough and quite easy had the 
tufts been anything like in a row leading toward the bird; but this 
was not the case. Sometimes a space had to be passed, in full view 
of the heron, where nothing but the thin grass offered any cover. 
Here Will's patience and skill were put to strongest test. Lying 
flat in the grass, face downward, he drew himself forward inch by 
inch (so slowly that his motion was hardly discernible), till a weed- 
tuft would hide him from the game, then he would slip rapidly up to 
the tuft and repeat the process of slow, painful progress to.another. 
Cesar and I watched alternately the archer and the bird. Now and 
then the latter would stretch out its wings and shake them a little, or 
lift up its head to the full extent of its long neck; but the movements 
were not those of fright. As Will neared his game, his motions 
became still more slow and careful. He zigzagged back and forth 
from tuft to tuft, gaining only a few feet of distance for many yards 


554 


870 Bow - Shooting. 


THE HAUNT OF THE HERON. 


of creeping. But he was getting the space quite narrow between 
him and the heron. Presently it only remained for him to reach an- 
other tuft. Line by line he seemed to move, scarcely faster than the 
hand of a clock, and at last we saw him draw himself up behind the 
tall weeds. For a few moments he rubbed his arms to relieve them 
of their weariness, then he slipped an arrow from his quiver, nocked 
it on the string, and moved to one side of the tuft to get a view of 
his bird. I was watching his movements through a good glass, and 
I felt my nerves tingle with the excitement of expectancy. All at 
once he drew and shot. Down came the heron impaled on the shaft, 
his great wings spread out and his long neck doubled under him! 
Cesar and I leaped to our feet and yelled with delight. 


— 


Bow - Shooting. S71 


Shooting fish might seem to be poor sport, but in the clear 
spring-streams of North Georgia we have had some lively work and 
right royal fun killing bass (‘‘ trout,” the people call them there) with 
the bow and arrow. Will was the first to attempt this, and after two 
hours’ sport he brought in a string of five >r six bass, one of them 
weighing over four pounds. They wete certainly the most tooth- 
some fish I ever ate, their flavor being equal to the famed pom- 
pano, while their flesh seemed firmer and juicier. After this, 
“trout” shooting became a favorite change with us when tired of 
other sport or when other game did not offer. No disciple of 
Izaak Walton need fly into a passion at this, for in the clear 
spring-streams of North Georgia no bass would ever take either 
fly or minnow for me, though in the rivers and brooks they are lively 
enough game for the hook. In the Oothcaloga, a small mill-stream 
near Calhoun, I caught a string of sixteen pounds in less than two 
hours, but in the Cranetah and Big Spring streams they will not rise 
or strike at all. 

It is a long step from Florida to the Kankakee region of Illinois 
and Indiana; but there are times when the sportsman may take the 
step with profit to himself. In the spring and fall, this region is one 
of the finest grounds for mallard, teal, wood-duck, and geese, to be 
found in the United States. I need not say to a sportsman that the 
mallard is a king’s own bird for the table. The canvas-back does 
not surpass it. I have shot corn-fed mallards whose flesh was as 
sweet as that of a young quail, and at the same time as choice- 
flavored as that of the woodcock. A favorite way of shooting these 
birds, and geese also, with the bow, is for the archer to conceal 
himself at a point over which a flock will fly when disturbed, and 
send an assistant to go by a wide circuit round the game and drive 
it over. I have seen eight or ten birds taken in this way during the 
course of two hours’ shooting. But the best sport is had by slipping 
along the shores of the ponds and streams and getting single shots 
by strategy. In the Kankakee lagoons one may shoot all day at 
buffle-heads, wood-duck, teal, scaup-duck, and mallard without get- 
ting out of sight of his camp. On the flat prairies bordering this 
river plover are plentiful, and no bird offers a better mark for an 
arrow. It is somewhat difficult to hit, but the sport is exciting on 
account of the fact that on the smooth, level meadow of the prairie 


872 Bow-Shoottng. 


you can mark just how near you 
come to killing each bird; and 
oftentimes a miss, when your 
arrow fairly lifts the back-feath- 
ers of the game or “tips” its 
tail or beak, gives you as much 
pleasure as if you had bowled it 
over. The peculiarly lively skip 
and jump taken by a plover 
when an arrow-head strikes into 
the ground beside it is enough 
to make any healthy man laugh 
in spite of himself. ~ Of course, 
when shooting at game so small, 
you must be content to miss five times as often as you hit; indeed, 
to kill once out of five shots would be excellent archery. I have 
had some days of rare sport when my score showed over forty shots 
to each bird I bagged. 

A kind of bittern or night-heron haunts the prairie sloughs in 
the Kankakee region, and often, for lack of better game, I have 
knocked them over for their wing-feathers, which make excellent 
trimmings for light arrows. The natives call these bitterns by the 
very appropriate, if not euphonious, name of ‘ thunder-pumper.” 

It is rather remarkable that the archer is subjected to the criticism 
of everybody who sees him. A grave man, who boasted of having 
served many years in the Hoosier senate, once gave me a long 
lecture on the folly and childishness of “ playing with bows’n arrers”; 
but he would sit all day beside a mill-pond, fishing for “ goggle- 
eyes” and sun-perch, without dreaming of childishness. A Kankakee 
herder, with a cast of countenance decidedly hangdog, ventured to 
set his big cur on Will, because he went among some cattle to shoot 
at a prairie-hen; but a well directed blunt shaft settled the dog, 
which ran yelling back to its irate master. I well remember an old 
curmudgeon whom we ran across in a Florida woods. He carried a 
flint-locked rifle, nearly six feet long, and wore what, some twenty 
years before, had been a beaver tile. He helped himself to an 
enormous quid of smoking fine-cut, and forthwith began to ply us 
with questions about our weapons. We very patiently explained our 


THUNDER-PUMPER. 


Bow - Shooting. 373 


A STAID OLD FARMER. , 


method of shooting and how our arrows were made, the use of our 
quivers, and so on, till he seemed satisfied, and stood for a moment as 
if plunged in deep meditation. Then he turned abruptly away and 
left us, muttering as he did so, ‘Ye couldn't gi’ me a thousand o’ 
them ’ere bows!” 

Sometimes we have been followed for a half-day at a time by a 
staid old farmer, to watch us shoot. His delight at our success was 
as unbounded as his amazement was profound. 

Wood-duck shooting is the bowman’s richest sport, and the bird 
itself is the most royal of game in everything but size. The little 
streams of the Middle and Western States, especially those of Indiana 


874 Bow- Shooting. 


and Illinois, teem with wood-duck in their season, which is from the 
first of September to about the tenth of November, when they fly 
south. These small streams mostly flow through a wooded country, 
between low bluffs fringed with papaw and hazel thickets, and over- 
shadowed by giant oak and plane trees. Acorns are constantly 
dropping into the clear water, giving the ducks all the food they 
desire; but should this source chance to fail, the wheat-stacks and 
corn-shocks of the farmer are hard by, and to them they make daily 
excursions. Under cover of the bluffs or the hazel and papaw thick- 
ets, the archer has easy work approaching his birds, and generally 
gets within short range of them before he shoots. If you can keep 
the shot-gunners away, three or four miles of a well stocked stream 
will afford two archers plenty of sport for a whole season. Hunting 
them with the bow does not drive the birds off to other haunts; but 
the sound of a gun soon depopulates a stream, whether any duck be 
killed or not. The little rivulet I am now hunting along is so 
shallow that I can wade it at any point, and its average width is not 
over fifteen yards. No gunners have been on it this season—z. ¢., 
within a mile or two of my cabin, each way. The ducks are plenti- 
fully distributed along my beat, and seem very fat. I am having 
grand luck. 

Yesterday, I found an old, dead, scraggy plane-tree, so full of 
knot-holes and deserted woodpecker holes that it looked like a dry 
honey-comb, and it was literally crammed with flying squirrels. 1 
spent an hour pounding on the old shell and shooting at the little 
animals when they came out of the holes. Anything that flies, 
swims, climbs, or runs is game for the archer. He shoots at 
everything, from a tomtit to a hawk or an eagle, from a flying- 
squirrel or ground-squirrel to a deer. He is out for sport, and means 
to have it. 


To close this paper, a few plain rules for bow-shooting will be of 
value to those who may be tempted to try it. 

The first thing is to secure good weapons. A poor bow and 
slipshod arrows are worse than none. 

For target practice, a fifty-pound lemon-wood bow, six feet long, 
and best-footed Highfield arrows, twenty-eight inches long, are what 
is needed. A hunting-bow should be ten or fifteen pounds heavier. 


Low - Shooting. 


WAITING FOR A SHOT. 


All your weapons and accouterments must be kept dry and well 
oiled. Dampness and archery do not agree. 

Never allow yourself to make a careless shot at anything. Strive 
for excellence at every effort. 

Never try to take aim when shooting, but fix your eyes steadily 
on the mark, and guide your arrow by your sezse of direction. 

Sguceze the bow-handle with the left hand. You cannot hold it 
too fast. Draw quickly and evenly. Let go without ‘ bobbling ” or 
tremor. 

Do not allow the sight of game to put you all in a quiver. You 
cannot shoot well when excited. 

I do not decry angling and gunning, except that the latter is too 
destructive of game. I am an enthusiastic ‘disciple of the rod,” but 
whenever I cast a fly or troll a minnow my long-bow is near at hand 
and a well filled quiver at my side. You cannot combine gunning and 
angling on account of the weight of the gun and accouterments, and 
still more because the noise of fire-arms is sure to render timid fish 
sullen. I have known the bass in a well stocked pool utterly to refuse 
the most tempting bait through an entire day, for nothing more than 
a pistol-shot fired close by. The twang of a bowstring seems to 
frighten nothing. It was the old first note of music made by 
Apollo. 

I will here endeavor to set forth the whole “code of practice” of 
archery as I follow it: 

To Maxe a Goop Bow.—Take a good, clear billet split from 
mulberry, sassafras, Southern cedar, black locust, ash, or apple-tree, 


876 Bow- Shooting. 


giving preference to the woods in the order named. Let the billet be 
from five to seven feet long, according to the desired length of the 
bow. Now with great care shave the piece down to a uniform size 
for its whole length, say nearly circular, and two and a half inches 
in diameter. Lay the piece away to dry in the shade for two months, 
taking care that no hint of moisture ever reaches it. When it is 
thoroughly seasoned, finish as follows: First, mark the exact center 
of the billet, and from this point in the direction of what is to be the 
lower end of the bow lay off a space of five inches for the handle. 
From each extremity of the handle taper the bow to the ends, each 
of which must be a shade larger than the tip of the archer’s third 
finger. Now dress the handle and body of the bow down till by 
trying it you find it nearly of the proper strength, then flatten the 
back a little the whole length of the bow, glue a bit of green plush 
round the handle, and your bow is ready for the horn tips, which are 
_the ends of cow-horns bored out to fit over the bow’s ends and 
nocked or notched as seen in the detail drawings on a previous page. 
The hole bored in the horn to receive the tip of the bow should be 
deep enough to let the wood pass in to slightly above the nock. To 
make the horn work easily, boil it in water for an hour or two. A 
bow of six feet in length and of sixty pounds drawing power will 
throw a good arrow two hundred and twenty-five yards. Of course, 
the reader knows at once that his bow must be suited to his muscular 
force and to the experience he has had in archery. Fifty pounds 
drawing weight is about right for an ordinary man to begin with. 
The length of the bow should be two or three inches in excess of the 
archer's height. A lady's bow may be from twenty-eight to forty 
pounds strong. J have somewhere seen it stated that her majesty 
Queen Victoria in her younger days greatly enjoyed archery, and 
gloried in her ability to brace and draw a fifty-five pound bow. 

To Make a Goop Bowstrrinc.— Take silk or flax harness-thread 
of the best quality and twist a string of about one-seventh of an inch in 
diameter, waxing it well during the process of twisting with shoe- 
maker’s wax or bees-wax. Fasten one end of this string tightly 
into the nock of the lower end of the bow. With the other end of 
the string form a neat, firm loop (not a slip-noose) around the other 
end of the bow, two and a halfor three inches below the nock. Your 
weapon is now ready to string, or “brace,” as the old archers had it. 


Low - Shooting. 877 


To Make a Goop Arrow.—Make the shaft as directed in the 
previous article; peel off the skin or outer covering of the broad side 
of a goose-feather with the vane or plume on the skin, or rather peel 
three feathers thus and glue the strips on the shaft as therein 
described. These vanes may, if necessary, be held to their places 
till the glue is hard by a wrapping of fine thread. The nock must 
be deep and smooth, and large enough to receive the string freely. 
The heads of target-shafts can be made by any smith. They consist 
of light, pointed iron or steel thimbles made to fit over the ends of 
the arrows; or you can make excellent heads by boring out bits of 
pointed horn and using them in the place of the steel heads. The 
steel points for the shafts used in hunting large game | have already 
described. By referring to the detail cuts there given any good 
blacksmith can make them. They should not weigh over a half- 
ounce. A good arrow-head for bird-shooting is made by pour- 
ing melted hard pewter over the end of the shaft and keeping it to 
its place, till cooled, by a cup of stiff writing-paper. To do this, cut 
a shoulder one inch or less from the extremity of the shaft, and 
slightly lessen the wood for that distance; then roll the paper round 
the shaft, and tie it so as to leave room for the pewter to fill in round 
the shoulder between the wood and the paper. This will form a 
smooth, bright ferrule. Some sharp spiral notches cut in the wood 
where the pewter goes will serve to hold it firmly to its place when 
it cools. _ Ladies’ arrows may be from. twenty-three to twenty-seven 
inches long, and highly colored with gilt and gay paints to suit the 
taste or whim of the archer. 

How to SHoot.— Your bow being first strung or braced, hold it 
horizontally before you, z.e., with the bow at right angles with your 
body, your left hand firmly grasping the handle ; slip an arrow under 
the string and over the bow at the right edge of your left hand and 
touching the left forefinger knuckle; place the arrow-nock well on 
the string; turn the palm of your right hand up, placing the first 
three fingers thereof under the string, hooking their tips round it 
with the arrow between the first and second, and the thumb extended 
along the shaft near the nock. Now, keeping all holds thus, turn the 
bow till it stands vertically before you, your arrow resting against and 
above your left forefinger knuckles; turn your left side to the target, 
fix your eye steadily on the center of the bull’s-eye, draw the string 


378 Bow - Shooting. 


back till your right thumb touches the upper tip of your right ear ; 
squeeze the bow-handle powerfully with the left hand, steady! let 
drive! Now, if you have paid good heed to the above directions and 
have been sure to keep the arrow-nock well on the string, you have 
made a pretty shot. Do not attempt to take aim. The only way to 
become a good bow-shot is to learn to guide your shaft by feeling, z. ¢., 
by your sense of direction and distance Your eyes must be glued, so 
to speak, upon the target. This is the one great rule of archery. 


MIscELLANEOUS. 


No home-made bows or target-arrows can half-way equal those 
beautiful weapons made by Philip Highfield, of London, England ; 
Messrs. Peck and Snyder, of New York City, are Mr. Highfield’s 
American agents. A letter addressed to them will procure for its 
writer a catalogue and numbered price-list of archery goods. In 
purchasing a bow ask fora ‘“ gentleman’s (or lady’s) lemon-wood bow, 
horn-tipped, plush-handled,” stating desired length and strength. I 
would advise the reader to begin with a rather weak bow. 

For target-arrows order “ gentleman’s (or lady’s) whole-nocked, 
best-footed, Highfield target-arrows,” naming length. 

Targets, made of plaited straw and faced with canvas, may be 
had of any size from one foot to four feet in diameter. Each archery 
club will need at least two targets. 

The best shooting gloves are of kid or lisle thread, with close- 
fitting gauntlet-bands covering the whole fore-arm, thus serving as 
both glove and arm-guard. I cannot recommend the finger-tips sold 
as shooting gloves by the dealers. 

To forma club, let any number from six to thirty gentlemen and 
ladies associate themselves by a constitution and by-laws taking 
some appropriate name, and electing their officers, such as master- 
bowman, secretary, and treasurer. I prefer the title of master-bow- 
man to that of president, and suggest that societies do not cumber 
their organizations with too many officers. The master-bowman is, 
of course, the leader or chief of his band. He settles all disputes 
between his followers arising on the field or in the hall. The secre- 
tary and treasurer fill the same places, respectively, that are filled by 
like officers in other associations or companies. At each shooting, 


Bow- Shooting. 879 


the archer who makes the highest number or score is entitled to the 
honorary title of captain of numbers or captain of the target. A silver 
arrow, a small silver bugle-horn, or some other appropriate prize, 
may be offered. An old Spanish yew bow of English make would 
be a happy choice. 


PEE BLOwW-GUN. 


‘ 


Bive PANE ESROETD) VES MEA BR. 


N studying the development of the modern gun and rifle,* it is 
very interesting to see how nearly all the parts and functions of 
these arms are foreshadowed in the blow;gun, a weapon admi- 

rably adapted to the needs of the hunter in the country where it is 
employed. This arm, like many other weapons used by savages, is 
found in use among tribes of different races inhabiting countries far 
removed from one another. The blow-gun is the sporting-arm of 
the Dyaks of Borneo, and of the Indians inhabiting South America 
between the Amazon and the Orinoco rivers. It was also used by 
the Choctaws of the lower Mississippi. Bossu, in his ‘Travels in 
Louisiana, 1756,” says: “They (the Choctaws) are very expert in 
shooting with an instrument made of reeds about seven feet long, 
into which they put a little arrow feathered with the wool of a 
thistle; and in aiming at an object they blow into the tube, and 
often hit the aim, and frequently kill little birds with it.” 

The four different types of blow-guns used by savages are alike 
in general form and method of use. I will give an account of the 
blow-gun used by the Macoushies of Guiana, and called by them the 
pucuna. These Indians are the most expert of all the savages in the 
manufacture of the blow-gun. They also have the secret of the 
preparation of the death-dealing wourali poison with which their 
blow-gun arrows are tipped. A neighboring tribe, called Warus,. = 
the best canoe-makers, and they exchange canoes and paddles for 
the blow-guns and wourali of the Macoushies. 

The Macoushie blow-gun is made of two reeds, one within the 
other. The inner reed is called the owvah, and it is the use of this 


* See “The Shot-Gun,” in this volume. 


56 


882 The Blow-Gun. 


inner barrel which makes the Macoushie gun superior to all others. 
The ourah is only found on the sandstone ridge of the upper 
Orinoco. It grows to a height of fifteen feet without a joint. The 
diameter of the reed is only half an inch, while its thickness is not 
more than twice that of a playing-card. Its interior is by nature 
highly polished and is of a regular bore, contracting slightly from 
one end to the other. But this reed cannot be used alone, for it is 
fragile, and the thinness of its walls allows it to bend when held 
away from the vertical position; so it is incased in another tube 
made of a species of palm. A rod of this, having the proper 
diameter, is cut and steeped in water, which allows its interior pulp 
to be taken out. Into this tube, called the sazmourah, is slipped the 
ourah reed, and the savage gunmaker has a wonderful skill in 
straightening the axis of his gun-barrel, and neatly fitting it to the 
interior of the samourah, where it is firmly fixed in place by the 
black kurumanni wax. The samourah is then scraped down to the 
proper thickness and polished. 

The mouth-end, or breech, of the gun is bound with a string 
made of silk-grass. The muzzle is slid through a hole in the saucer- 
shaped piece of acwervo nut, and the space between the interior of the 
nut and the tube is filled with kurumanni wax. This nut forms a 
ferrule to the tube and also serves as the front sight of the gun. 
The rear sight is ingeniously formed of two of the lower incisors of 
a rodent called the acouchi. These teeth are cemented to the tube 
with wax, with their convex sides upward. In the space between 
these teeth the wax is depressed, so as to form a rear sight similar 
to the open sight of a rifle, at about two feet distant from the mouth- 
piece. This tube, though very strong, is quite light. It is eleven 
feet long, and it weighs only one pound and a half. 

The arrows propelled by this gun are about the size of knitting- 
needles. They are formed of the leaf-ribs of the coucourite palm. 
The Indian forms the shafts of his arrows and points them by draw- 
ing these leaf-ribs between the sharp-edged teeth of the Azvaz fish. 
On one end of the arrow is wound a pear-shaped mass of wild 
cotton and fastened there with a fiber of silk-grass. The arrows 
are woven together, so that they may be coiled on a reel, and safely 
carried in a water-proof quiver. 

The Indians of Guiana also use a very ingenious arrow. In 


The Blow-Gun. 883 


this the ball of cotton is replaced by a piece of thin bark wrapped 
into a cone, which the puff of air expands and causes it to fit the 
tube tightly without windage. Here is the first inception of the 
Minié-ball. Longer pieces of the same bark are fixed along the 
sides of the shaft, and these wings are twisted, so that the arrow 
in its flight must rotate on its axis. Here we have the counterpart 
of the rotating rifle-ball. 

The bore of all the blow-guns that I have examined is slightly 
conical, tapering about four millimeters in bore from mouth-piece to 
muzzle. Here we have the first chohe-bores. It may be said that 
they did not intend them to be such, for nature thus made the hollow 
of their reeds. This is true; but nevertheless their guns are choked, 
and the arrows are always propelled toward the end having the 
smaller diameter of bore. 

In the blow-gun, or sumpitan, of the Dyaks,* the analogy of 
the blow-gun to modern arms is carried yet further in the appear- 
ance of the bayonet. The sumpitan is armed at its muzzle with 
a spear-head, which is bound to the side of the end of the tube so 
as not to interfere with the flight of the arrow. This spear is sup- 
posed to serve also for a front sight. 

The reader who is fond of tracing the analogues of our modern 
arms, tools, and customs in the weapons, implements, and habits of 
savages will be pleased to have found in the blow-gun the elements 
of our most approved modern fire-arms. The blow-gun uses the 
expansive force of a gas in propelling a projectile. It is of necessity 
a breech-loader. It is choke-bored. It has rear and front sights. 
It throws a projectile which, like the rifle-ball, rotates around its axis 
in its flight, and like the Minié-ball, expands at its base so as to fit 
closely the barrel through which it is propelled; and lastly, it carries 
at its muzzle the equivalent of a bayonet. 

The wourali poison with which the arrows are tipped is made 
by the conjurers of the tribe, and the secret of its preparation is 
handed down from father to son. This, together with the fact that 
all the neighboring tribes purchase this poison of the Macoushies, 
in whose interest it is to keep the composition a secret, throws some 


* For an account of the sumpitan, see “The Head-Hunters of Borneo,” by Carl 
Bock, London, 1881. 


834 The Blow-Gun. 


doubt over the information which travelers have obtained of its 
composition. Our knowledge of its ingredients is due mainly to 
Watterton,* who spent much time among the natives of Guiana. 
From them he received the information that the ingredients of 
the poison were the wourali vine (which is nearly allied to the 
strychnus toxifera which furnishes the nux vomica from which 
strychnine is made), the bitter root of the hyarri plant, the glutinous 
juices expressed from the stems of two bulbous plants; two kinds of 
ants, one a huge black one, whose venomous sting often causes a 
fever, the other a small red insect, whose sting is like the thrust of a 
red-hot needle; and lastly, the poison-bags of the labarri and cou- 
anacouchi snakes. Boiling water is poured over the scrapings of the 
wourali and hyarri woods, which are placed in a colander resting on 
an earthen pot. Into the decoction which flows into the pot the 
Indian now squeezes the gelatinous juice of the bulbous plant, and 
then adds the serpents’ poison and the ants. This mixture is sim- 
mered down to the consistence of molasses. The pot is then tightly 
closed with leaves and a skin, and always kept in a dry place. 

“The act of preparing the poison,” says Mr. Watterton, ‘is not 
considered as a common one; the savage may shape his bow, fasten 
the barb on the point of his arrow, and make his other implements 
of destruction, either lying in his hammock or in the midst of his 
family; but if he has to prepare the wourali poison, many precau- 
tions are supposed to be necessary. 

“The women and young girls are not allowed to be present, 
lest the Yabahou, or evil spirit, should do them harm. The shed 
under which it has been boiled is pronounced polluted, and abandoned 
ever after. He who makes the poison must eat nothing that morn- 
ing, and must continue fasting as long as the operation lasts. The 
pot in which it is boiled must be a new one, and must never have 
held anything before, otherwise the poison would be deficient in 
strength ; add to this that the operator must take particular care not 
to expose himself to the vapor which arises from it while on the fire. 

“Though this and other precautions are taken, such as frequently 
washing the face and hands, still, the Indians think that it affects the 


*“ Wanderings in South America, the North-west of the United States, and the 
Antilles, in the years 1812, 1816, 1820, and 1821.” By Charles Watterton, Esq. 
London, Macmillan & Co., 1879. 


The Blow-Gun. 885 


health ; and the operator either is, or, what is more probable, sup- 
poses himself to be, sick for some days after. 

“Thus it appears that the making the wourali poison is consid- 
ered as a gloomy and mysterious operation, and it would seem that 
they imagine it affects others as well as him who boils it; for an Indian 
agreed one evening to make some for me, but the next morning he 
declined having anything to do with it, alleging that his wife was 
with child!” 

To shoot the blow-gun, the Indian rests his left elbow against his 
hip and grasps the tube with the palm of his hand upward; then, 
with the palm of the right hand downward, he grasps the tube near 
the mouth-piece. This manner of holding his gun is similar to a 
method, though a bad one, of aiming with a rifle. 

The birds and animals at which he shoots are generally in the 
tops of the highest trees, often out of reach of any ordinary shot- 
gun; but the Indian rarely fails to bring them down. Throwing his 
body backward, the gun rises till it has the proper elevation, when, 
with a quick expiration of his lungs, the arrow leaves the tube with 
a pop like that made by a cork quickly taken out of a small bottle. 

“It is natural,” says Watterton, ‘‘to imagine that when a slight 
wound only is inflicted the game will make its escape. Far other- 
wise. The wourali poison almost instantaneously mixes with blood 
or water; so that if you wet your finger, and dash it along the pot- 
soned arrow in the quickest manner possible, you are sure to carry 
off some of the poison. Though three minutes generally elapse 
before the convulsions come on in the wounded bird, still a stupor 
evidently takes place sooner, and this stupor manifests itself by an 
apparent unwillingness in the bird to move. This was very visibie 
in a dying fowl. 

“Having procured a healthy, full-grown one, a short piece of a 
poisoned blow-pipe arrow was broken off and run up into its thigh, 
as near as possiblé betwixt the skin and the flesh, in order that it 
might not be incommoded by the wound. For the first minute it 
walked about, but walked very slowly, and did not appear the least 
agitated. During the second minute it stood still, and began to 
peck the ground; and ere half another had elapsed, it frequently 
opened and shut its mouth. The tail had now dropped, and the 
wings almost touched the ground. By the termination of the third 


886 The Blow-Gun. 


minute, it had sat down, scarce able to support its head, which 
nodded, and then recovered itself, and then nodded again, lower and 
lower every time, like that of a weary traveler slumbering in an erect 
position; the eyes alternately open and shut. The fourth minui 
brought on convulsions, and life and the fifth terminated together. 

“The flesh of the game is not in the least injured by the poison, 
nor does it appear to corrupt sooner than that killed by the gun or 
knife. The body of this fowl was kept for sixteen hours, in a 
climate damp and rainy, and within seven degrees of the equator ; 
at the end of which time it had contracted no bad smell whatever, 
and there were no symptoms of putrefaction, saving that just around 
the wound the flesh appeared somewhat discolored. * * * * * 

‘With a quiver of poisoned arrows slung over his shoulder, and 
with his blow-pipe in his hand, in the same position as a soldier 
carries his musket, see the Macoushi Indian advancing toward the 
forest in quest of powises, maroudis, waracabas, and other feathered 
game. 

“These generally sit high up in the tall and tufted trees, but 
still are not out of the Indian’s reach; for his blow-pipe, at its 
greatest elevation, will send an arrow three hundred feet. Silent as 
midnight, he steals under them, and so cautiously does he tread the 
ground that the fallen leaves rustle not beneath his feet. His ears 
are open to the least sound, while his eye, keen as that of the lynx, 
is employed in finding out the game in the thickest shade. Often 
he imitates their cry, and decoys them from tree to tree till they are 
within range of his tube. Then, taking a poisoned arrow from his 
quiver, he puts it in the blow-pipe and collects his breath for the 
fatal puff. Silent and swift the arrow flies, and seldom fails to pierce 
the object at which it is sent. Sometimes the wounded bird remains 
in the same tree where it was shot, and in three minutes falls down 
at the Indian’s feet. Should he take wing, his flight is of short 
duration, and the Indian, following the direction he has gone, is sure 
to find him dead. 

‘“The Indian, on his return home, carefully suspends his blow- 
pipe from the top of his spiral roof, seldom placing it in an oblique 
position, lest it should receive a cast.” 


INDEX 


vee 


UNDIES: 


Alce Americanus. See Moose. 
Alexander, Lawrence D., Paper by. 

The Split-Bamboo Rod, 601. 
Antelope, 301, 303. 
Antilocapra Americana Ord. See Antelope. 
“Arbor Ilex.” Paper by. 

Camps and Tramps about Ktaadn, Sor. 


Bamboo Rod, The Split, 408, 411, 597. 
Bass, Black, 379, 396, 451, 591, 594, 871. 
Bass, Striped, 449. 
Bear, How I killed a, 820. 
Bear-hunting in the South, 65. 
Bear, The Black, 49, 176, 820. 
Birch Bark, 182, 252, 519, 527, 529, 569. 
Bison Americanus. See Buffalo. 
Bird, How to mount a, 833. 
Black-tail Deer, 130, 149, 258, 301. 
Blow-Gun, The, 881. 
Blue Fish, 452, 455. 
Bobbing, 393. 
Bob White, 620, 663. 
Bond Boats, 714. 
Bow-shooting, 854. 
Bream and Bass, In the Haunts of, 396. 
Buffalo Hunting, tor. 
Burroughs, John, Paper by. 
The Halcyon in Canada, 541. 


Calls, Wood, 161, 178, 190, 194, 196, 200, 
214, 763, 764. 

Camp, 168, 182, 185, 187, 216, 240, 261, 
327, 360, 421, 432, 433, 446, 521, 715, 
730, 802, 8r7. 

Canada, 54, 154, 182, 187, 208, 401, 473, 
507, 541, 573- 

Canoe, 184, 527. 

Canvas-back and Terrapin, 726. 

Cariacus Columbianus. See Black-tail Deer. 

Cariacus Macrotis. See Mule-Deer. 

Cariacus Macrotis Californicus, 149. 

Cariacus Virginianus. See Virginia Deer. 

Caribou, 130, 140, 188, 199, 205, 208, 565. 

Caton, John Dean, 133, 135, 149, 243. 

Cervidee, The North American, 129, 

Cervus Alces. See Moose. 

Cervus Canadensis. See Elk. 

Cervus Rangifer. See Caribou. 

Cervus Tarandus. See Caribou. 

Chumming, 452, 467. 


Deer, Family. See Cervide. 

Deer-hunting on the Au Sable, 233. 

Dogs, 40, 60, 66, 70, 74, 82, 152, 204, 242, 
254, 270, 312, 318, 322, 615, 645, 653, 
675, 676, 692, 701, 705, 710, 73% 736, 
740. 


Dogs, Some American Sporting, 615. 

Ducks, 68, 561, 595, 620, 707, 710, 714, 
WTB 22 w2Gy ZOO TCs 

Dunraven, Earl of, Paper by. 
Moose-hunting in Canada, 182. 


Elk, 130, 144, 243. 
Ellis W. Hodgson, Paper by. 
Weight and Length of Brook-Trout, 605. 
Endicott, Francis, Paper by. 
Striped Bass, 449. 
Eskimo, 129, 314. 


Fish- Hooks, 337, 364, 383, 384, 406, 506, 


523. 

Fish-Hook, The Primitive, 337, 539. 

Fly, Artificial, and Silk-worm Gut, 604. 
See, also, Fish-hooks. 

Fox-hunting, 53, 79, 616. 


Gallinago media Wilsoni. See Snipe. 

Geese, Wild, 68, 719, 722, 724. 

Goat, Rocky Mountain, 300. 

Gordon, James, Papers by. 

Bear-hunting in ‘the South, 65. 
Wild Turkey-shooting, 760. 

Grayling, The Michigan, 493. 

Grinnell, George Bird, Papers by. 

The North American Cervide, 129. 
The Antelope, 303. 

The American Woodcock, 685. 
Snipe-shooting, 695. 

Grouse, 595, 620, 639, 710. 

Gun. (See Shot-Gun, The,) 74, 84, 115, 
261, 275, 480, 683, 692, 703, 717, 722; 
751, 758. 

Halcyon in Canada, The, 541. 

Henshall, James A., Paper by. 

Black Bass Fishing, 379. 

Horns of Deer, 132, 140, 141, 144, 147, 
149, 156, 158, 210, 211, 244, 259, 260, 
304, 327. 

Indian Hunters, 50, 56, 58, 126, 128, 159, 
160, 165, 191, 214, 257, 287, 299, 313; 
473- 

Killing Fish, 389, 427. 

Ktaadn, Camps and Tramps about, S01. 


Labrax Lineatus. See Bass, Striped. 
Laffan, W. Mackay, Papers by. 
Deer-hunting on the Au Sable, 233. 
Canvas-back and Terrapin, 726. 
Lucas, Frederic A., Paper by. 
How to mount a Bird, 833. 


Macdonough, A. R., Paper by. 
Sea-Trout Fishing, 507. 


3388 


Mayer, Alfred M., Papers by. 
The Prehistoric Hunter, 29. 
On the Invention of the Reel, 603. 
Artificial Fly and Silk-worm Gut, 604. 
Weight and Length of Brook-Trout, 608, 
Bob White, 663. 
A Day with the Rails, 750. 
The Shot-Gun, 765. 
The Blow- Gun, 881. 
Meleagris Gallopavo. See Turkey. 
Micropterus. See Black Bass. 
Mills, J. Harrison, Paper by. 
Hunting the Mule-Deer in Colorado, 
257. 
Minnesota, Field Sports in, 70s. 
Mitchell, William, Paper by. 
The Split-Bamboo Rod, 597. 
Mississippi, 65. 
Moose, 130, 136, 154, 182, 208. 
Muir, John, Paper by. 
The Wild Sheep of the Sierra, 280. 
Mule -Deer, 130, 147, 257, 301. 
Muskallonge, 591, 592. 
Musk- Ox Hunt, A, 312. 


New England, 54, 79, 154, 209, 351, 449, 
456, 542, 802, 828. 
Norris, Thaddeus, Paper by. 
The Michigan Grayling, 493. 
wibos Moschatus. See Musk-Ox. 
Ovis Montana. See Sheep, Wild. 


Partridge. See Bob White. 
Phillips, Barnet, Paper by. 

The Primitive Fish-hook, 337. 
Philohela Minor. See Woodcock. 
Phocena Communis. See Porpoise. 
Pickerel, 531, 578, 591. 
Porpoise-Shooting, 473. 

Portage, 183, 530. 

Prairie Fowl. See Grouse. 
Prehistoric Hunter, The, 29, 339. 
Prong-horn. See Antelope. 
Ptarmigan. See Grouse. 

Pyle, Howard, Paper by. 

Among the Thousand Islands, 573. 
Quail. See Bob White. 

Quebec, 401, 417, 433, 539, 544, 546. 
Rails, A Day with the, 750. 

Rangeley Lakes, Trout-fishing in the, 351. 
Rangifer Grenlandicus. See Caribou. 
Reel, On the Invention of the, 603. 
Reindeer. See Caribou. 

Robinson, Rowland E., Paper by. 

Fox-Hunting in New England, 79. 
Rock Fish. See Bass, Striped. 

Rods, 383, 385, 406, 410, 506, 523, 597. 


[ndex. 


Sage Hen. See Grouse. 
Salmon, 368, 401, 569, 571. 
Salmon Rivers, gor, 405, 511, 513. 
Salmo Fontinalis. See Trout. 
Salmo Salar. See Salmon. 
Schwatka, Frederick, Paper by. 
A Musk- Ox Iiunt, 313. 
Sea Trout, 434, 507. 
Seymour, Edward, Paper by. 
Trout-fishing in the Rangeley Lakes, 351. 
Sheep, Wild, 263, 280. 
Shot. See Shot-Gun. 
Shot-Gun, The, 765. 
Skittering, 394. 
Snipe, 620, 695. 
Striped Bass, 449. 


Taxidermy, 833. 
Terrapin, 745. 
Tetraonide. See Grouse. 
Thompson, Maurice, Papers by. 
In the the Haunts of Bream and Bass 
(Poem), 396. 
Bow-shooting, 854. 
Thousand Islands, Among the, 545, 573. 
Thymallus tricolor, See Grayling. 
Tileston, William M., Paper by. 
Some American Sporting Dogs, 615. 
Traps, 61, 644. 
Trolling, 393, 594- 
Trout, 181, 351, 451, 462, 494, 554, 559; 
565, 807, 827. 
Trout, Weight and Length of, 605. 
Trout, A Fight with a, 827. 
Trout, Sea, 507. 
Turkey-shooting, Wild, 760, 866. 


Ursus Americanus. 


Vulpes Fulvus. See Fox. 
Virginia Deer, 130, 151, 209, 243, 259. 


See Bear. 


Wallace, Lew, Paper by. 
A Buffalo Hunt in N. Mexico, ror. 
Ward, Charles C., Papers by. 
The Black Bear, 49. 
Moose-hunting, 154. 
Caribou-hunting, 208. 
Porpoise-shooting, 473. : 
Warner, Charles Dudley, Papers by. 
How I killed a Bear, 820. 
A Fight with a Trout, 827. 
Whitehead, Charles E., Paper by. 
North American Grouse, 639. 
Wilkinson, A. G., Paper by. 
Salmon-fishing, 4or. 
Woodcock, 620, 685. 


Zimmerman, Charles A., Paper by. 
Field Sports in Minnesota, 705. 


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